Oncoming Storm
by sss979
Summary: BOOK THREE OF THE TIME WAR. The CIA Coordinator has a plan to fortify Gallifrey's frighteningly inadequate defenses. But is the solution more terrifying than the Daleks themselves? Meanwhile, the Doctor is battling fate and time itself in his efforts to protect his family. Or at least ensure that he's not forced to witness their deaths... Book 7 of the Quiescenary Series
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

"Wicked!"

If the Doctor hadn't known better, he would've mistaken the fifty-something woman for the sixteen-year-old girl who had traveled with him all those years ago.

"How come our Tardis couldn't do that?"

Ace was staring up at the "open" ceiling of the Tardis console room - the panoramic projection of the surrounding area and all its stars and planets. With the repairs the Time Lords had done to her body when they'd rebuilt it, she looked almost as young as her wide-eyed wonder made her sound. The Doctor sighed as he looked away. She shouldn't be here. None of them should be here. And the further they got from Gallifrey - the closer they drifted towards death - the more that thought took root in the very depths of his soul.

"Doctor, where are we?"

He cast a quick glance at Charley. She was another passenger onboard the Tardis that he wished wasn't with him right now. He'd told her once that if he was going to die, he wanted to die alone. He had meant that then, and he meant it now - more and more every passing second. He wanted to die without the guilt of anyone else's blood on his hands.

But he wasn't going to get that option.

"We're at the precise coordinates that Braxiatel gave," India answered before the Doctor had a chance to look at the console.

"But there is nothing here," Leela protested, staring at the sky above them.

"No, there is something," he muttered. He grabbed the scanner screen and pulled it down to eye level. "There's always something. It's just a question of what and when."

Ace was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder. She saw the readings at the same instant he did. "Oh," she said quietly.

Her quiet, solemn tone attracted the rest of them, and they all looked. On the screen, the energy readings were clear. Hundreds upon hundreds of them.

"Okay, so maybe 'nothing' was a bit of an understatement," Ace said tensely.

"The Dalek fleet," the Doctor said. He stared for a moment, then turned his attention back to the console.

"Why can't we see them up there?" Charley asked, nodding to the vast emptiness above them.

"Because they're out of sync," the Doctor answered. Without looking up, he pointed to the scanner they were all staring at. "Do you see how the edges of the readings are fuzzy? They fade, and come back?"

"Yes."

"Braxiatel gave both spatial and temporal coordinates," Ace said. "We should be right on top of them, so what do you mean we're out of sync?"

"He gave a suggestion," the Doctor corrected. "The point at which the transmission from Davros seemed to be coming from. But we already know it was paradoxical."

"You mean the temporal coordinates may have been wrong?"

"Not wrong, no. Think less linearly."

"Ah!" India cried. "You mean a hyperspatial echo!"

The Doctor nodded.

"What's a hyperspatial echo?" Charley asked.

"Any event in time gives off an energy signature," India answered excitedly, glad for the chance to demonstrate her Academy learning. "A paradox creates a rip in the fabric of time through which that energy can bleed. But it's not the energy itself that's observable. As the equation attempts to correct itself, it creates an echo effect. Like rubbing an eraser over a bit of writing. You see the bits of eraser floating around on the paper when you're through."

"Yes, and if your very, very good and very, very precise," the Doctor muttered, focused on his console rather than his crew, "you can intervene in that erasure. Find the point at which it happens and change the way that it happens."

"That's how the Time Lords go about correcting damage to the Web of Time!"

"We are here to... correct this?" Leela asked, confused.

"The problem is, even once I get a lock on the echo, following it back to the source will require us to cross the timeline."

"What do you mean, 'cross the timeline'?" Charley asked, sounding worried.

"In a worst-case scenario, whatever interference we make cancels out the entire timeline. The Daleks won't invade because they were never here."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"That kind of maneuvering requires a special kind of Tardis," India said. "One that's not anchored to Gallifreyan Relative Time. They're _extremely _rare, and extremely dangerous."

"So why didn't we take that extremely rare, extremely dangerous Tardis instead?"

"Because along with being extremely rare and extremely dangerous, that type of Tardis is also extremely temperamental," the Doctor answered. "I don't have the time it would take to be able to interface with it, much less establish a working relationship that would enable me to pilot it through the minefield that's awaiting us in the Time Vortex."

"And you think this Tardis can do it?" India asked, clearly awestruck.

"This Tardis and I have scraped through tighter spots than this," he said confidently, then added under his breath, "though at the moment, I can't think of any."

"Well, that's certainly encouraging," Charley said. "Especially knowing just how tight some of those previous spots actually _were_."

"There!" The Doctor beamed as he looked at the screen. "There, see it?"

Leela frowned. "That little blinking light is the ship we are looking for?"

"No, that little blinking light is the echo of the ship we are looking for."

"Doctor, there's four hyperspatial planes between us and that signal," India pointed out. "And that's just the _echo_!"

"Yes, you may want to hold on to something," he said under his breath, taking hold of the lever for the dematerialization circuit. "This is going to be a very bumpy ride."


	2. Chapter One - Executing the Mission

**CHAPTER ONE**

**EXECUTING THE MISSION**

"You wanted to see me, Madame President?"

"Yes," she answered. "Come in."

Hesitating only a moment, Rodak stepped inside the office and glanced around. It was not the first time he had been summoned here - not by a long shot. But he always seemed to take in his surroundings as if they were new and fascinating. She wondered if it was a matter of principle - to inspect everything around him as if it were begging for his approval - or simply a nervous habit.

"I've heard no report on the Doctor since he left."

Rodak studied her for a moment, and raised a brow. "You were expecting one?"

Romana sighed. "Coordinator, please, sit down."

"I think I would prefer to stand. But thank you all the same."

"Then stand, but please do listen. I don't want to have to say this twice."

Rodak smiled pleasantly. "Indeed, I would hate to see you overexert yourself, Madame President."

She ignored the bait, gathered her thoughts into words, and spoke clearly and calmly. "I think only an idiot would fail to see that you loathe me almost as much as I'm disgusted by you. But you are still Coordinator of the CIA and I am still President of Gallifrey. Regardless of our differences, you and I must cooperate professionally if either one of us hopes to retain the respect of the Council, let alone the people of Gallifrey. Do you understand?"

His smile remained in place as he nodded. "Perfectly, Madame President."

"Good. So when I say, 'I have not heard any report on what has happened to the Doctor,' you had damn well better have a more suitable response than, 'Were you expecting one?'"

She mirrored his smile, and for a moment, the two of them contemplated various ways to kill the other in perfect, smiling unison. Finally, he straightened his posture, clasped his hands behind his back, and addressed her clearly. "It would appear that the Doctor has disappeared, Madame President."

Romana's smile fell. "What do you mean, disappeared?"

"I mean precisely that." Rodak might have sounded smug if not for the underlying anger he undoubtedly felt at the words coming out of his mouth, and the tiny note of fear that he couldn't quite contain. "He left Gallifrey, followed his instructions to the coordinates we gave him, and disappeared without a trace."

"Into the Vortex?"

"I can't imagine how. If he were in the Time Vortex, we would certainly be able to find him."

"Well, what are you doing to try?"

Rodak laughed briefly. "Frankly, Madame President, I have much greater concerns at the moment."

"Such as?"

Rodak hesitated a moment longer, then stepped forward slightly. "You know, Romana, when your Chancellor suggested I use the Doctor for this assignment, I didn't entirely trust him."

Romana's eyes narrowed. Somehow she was not surprised to hear that Braxiatel had been the source of that suggestion.

"How can we trust something as important as the detonation of a dimensional correlation destabilizer to a self-centered renegade?"

Romana couldn't help but smirk slightly. "Ah, so he didn't set off your bomb before he disappeared," she guessed. "How very appropriate."

Rodak's eyes flashed with anger, and he scowled at her. "That's not the word I would have used."

"Well, you were the one who wanted control of the Dalek Crisis," she said as she sat back comfortably in her chair. "And you were the one who decided to have the Doctor arrested and coerced into helping you. I trust you have a backup plan."

"I am working on it."

"I'm glad to hear it. But it still doesn't answer my question. What attempts have we made to locate him?"

"None," Rodak answered firmly. "And there will be none on my watch. I have more important matters to attend."

"Well, now that he's no longer involved in the Dalek Crisis in any capacity - official or unofficial - I'm sure that there will be no conflict of interest if I use the resources available to me as president to find him."

"If you'd like to chase him across all of space and time, please do. And please have him brought back to Gallifrey so that he can stand trial."

"Trial?" Romana raised a brow. "On what grounds?"

"The Valeyard agrees that the Doctor's rogue actions and the theft of the detonator are to be considered a premeditated act of treason."

Romana laughed. "You must be joking."

"The safety of Gallifrey is not something I joke about, Madame President. Nor is treason."

"Oh, surely not. A game, perhaps, but never a joke."

"And just what do you mean by that?"

Romana stood slowly, and leaned over her desk, lowering her voice. "You saw fit to amass what political power you could under the guise of protector and savior of Gallifrey. You then saw fit to use that power to coerce help from a man who wanted nothing to do with this war. To that end, you threw him in a prison cell and undoubtedly threatened his family. And you expect me to be _surprised _that he absconded with your precious weapon?"

"I hadn't considered that you might have known of his plans beforehand, but now that you mention it..."

"I am no more surprised than anyone who's been paying attention to this game - and yes, Coordinator, I mean to call it exactly what it is - that you've been playing ever since you wormed your way into your current position. My only concern is that when you've finished maneuvering your pawns that there will be nothing left of Gallifrey left to save."

He studied her quietly for a long moment, then replaced his congenial smile and nodded. "Your concern is duly noted, Madame President. Now, if that's all, I do have some rather important matters to attend."

"You're dismissed," she answered with a glare.

As he left her office, she could feel her fists tightening, nails scraping the top of her desk. Suppressing her anger with a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and sat back down.

*X*X*X*

The Doctor had said it would be a bumpy ride. Charley should've known from experience what that meant. But instead of heeding the warning and anchoring herself to one of the pillars surrounding the console, she had foolishly thought she would be able to maintain her balance by simply holding on to the console's edge. She, like India and Leela, ended up on the floor. Only Ace managed to stay on her feet, braced stiffly at the Doctor's side.

"We've stopped," Charley realized as she pulled herself up again, wary of the possibility that at any moment, her whole world could start shaking again.

"It certainly looks that way," the Doctor agreed.

"Are we there, then? We found the ship?"

She watched him carefully as he looked up at the scanner. His eyes grew noticeably wider. Charley raised her eyes first to the scanner, then slowly to the projection overhead. What she saw made her heart skip a beat. An enormous chasm loomed over them, deep and terrifying, like a rip in the sky where nothing but swirling darkness existed in shades of black and grey.

For a moment, she thought they might be sucked into it. Uncertain what it was, she wracked her brain for any memory to compare it to - whether personal experience or something she had only heard about. Was it an oddly-shaped black hole, perhaps? Did such a thing even exist? If it did, would it even look like that? She frowned as she gripped the console tighter. No, she realized as she stared at it a moment longer, it could not be a black hole. There was too much color, too many swirling shades of dust in its deep emptiness. And its shape was not a hole at all - it was more like a tear or a crack in the sky.

Luckily, whatever it was, it appeared to be quite some distance away. The stars surrounding it, sinking into the darkness at its edges, were tiny and far away. She let out the breath she'd been holding and looked at the Doctor for an explanation.

"What is that?" India asked, before she had a chance to do. "A black hole?"

The Doctor drew in a steady breath. "Something like that."

"I've never seen a black hole like that before," Ace added, stepping closer as she tipped her head further back to survey the entirety of their surroundings. "There's light coming from the center of it."

Charley blinked in surprise, and looked again. Sure enough, a thin stream of light formed a single vein down the center of the long opening, in the midst of the swirling gasses.

"It's not a black hole," the Doctor said flatly. "But it was supposed to be."

"Supposed to be?" Charley asked, confused.

"It's known as the Gates of Elysium."

Charley frowned deeply, waiting for more of an answer.

"The Eye of Harmony is essentially an imploded star," the Doctor explained, "a black hole contained on Gallifrey. Its power is harvested to sustain the Time Vortex, the Matrix, the Web of Time, all of Gallifreyan society and technology. But it didn't come easy. Dozens of failed attempts created black holes and variations thereof all throughout the universe. That one," he nodded to the gaping wound in the sky, "is particularly infamous for the number of planets it took with it. It detonated prematurely, and stretched further than anyone expected it to do. Billions upon billions of innocent people - entire planets - were consumed, and emitted again as excess heat."

"So is it going to pull us in?" Charley asked.

"No," the Doctor said confidently. "We're too far away for it to pose any immediate threat to us."

"Unlike all of _those _guys," India muttered, "who definitely pose an immediate threat."

She'd turned her back to the black hole and was looking now at the other side of the ceiling. Charley turned to see what she was staring at, and her stomach flopped again. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of ships were surrounding them, lined up in rows in some sort of battle formation by the looks of it. More importantly, the ones that had obvious weapons all had those weapons trained directly on the Tardis.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Charley?"

"Why are they all pointing guns at us?"

The Doctor gripped the scanner again, and her eyes flickered to it as he tuned in what they had no visual representation of from the panoramic view above them: the single Dalek saucer beneath them.

"Wrong place, wrong time, I suspect," he finally answered.

"Are these the ships we were seeing through the echo?" India asked tensely.

"I don't know."

"But those aren't Dalek ships."

"No," he agreed quietly. "No, they're not."

"They're from... everywhere," Ace said in awe. "Polythoren, Zygon, Rector, Nekkestani..."

"All the greater time powers are represented here," India added. "And a whole host of others."

"And the obvious question," the Doctor continued. "Why are they all here? And more importantly, how did they all know to converge on this point in time and space?"

"Maybe the same way we did?" Charley suggested.

"My question is, where's the rest of the Dalek fleet?" Ace asked.

"Maybe there was no Dalek fleet," India suggested. "Maybe these were the energy readings we were seeing."

"That's a hell of a mistaken identity."

"But it's possible," the Doctor admitted. "That is certainly a Dalek ship, and most likely the source of the transmission. But across four planes of hyperspatial echoes? Those energy readings were distorted."

Leela had been very quiet, eyes darting, just listening as they exchanged words that probably meant very little to her. But she finally stepped forward at that suggestion. "You mean that Gallifrey may not have been under attack at all?"

"Gallifrey was certainly under attack," the Doctor said firmly. "Even if that one ship were the only one actually present, that transmission from Davros was clear. His intent was clear. The things he said when we confronted him the first time were clear. He fully intends to attack Gallifrey and in any number of timelines, he already has done. Besides..." He shifted the view of the overhead projection and Charley closed her eyes to keep from getting dizzy. "I don't think these are the energy readings they picked up. The Dalek fleet is still out there, minus the ship parked alongside us."

"How do you know?"

"I don't." He glanced at Leela. "But I know the Daleks."

"This is Pulinary Cruiser Gamma-Z-Alpha addressing the unknown vessel at coordinates 4-8-1-D-slash-vector-9." The authoritative, gravelly voice that came through the com system made the Doctor's eyes dart to the console. "Identify yourself and state your business here."

"Oh, that's very good," the Doctor muttered under his breath.

"What is?"

"Overriding the coms protocols." He stepped toward the console and flipped a switch. "Whoever that is, their technology is advanced, I'll give them that."

Charley frowned, but didn't have a chance to speak before he'd raised his head and addressed the faceless speaker loudly. "Gamma-Z-Alpha, this is the Doctor. I've come from Gallifrey and I'm carrying a dimensional correlation destabilizer onboard so if you don't mind lowering your guns a bit, I'm sure we can have a much more productive conversation when we're not all in danger of being blown to bits."

A long pause followed. Finally, the answer came back. "From Gallifrey, you say?" There was a mocking disbelief in his tone. "What is Gallifrey's intent with a dimensional correlation destabilizer?"

The Doctor hesitated a moment, long enough for Ace to catch his attention. "Doctor, that's Davros' ship," she said quietly.

"You're sure of that?" the Doctor asked.

"I was a prisoner on that ship for a very long time." Her voice shook just slightly, and her eyes were cold as she turned to look at him. "I'll never forget it."

"Well, it's on the receiving end of an awful lot of firepower if those guns actually work," India said uneasily.

"That is _good_!" Leela declared brightly. "If they are against the Daleks, they are on our side!"

"Hmm, except you're forgetting one thing," the Doctor said, studying the screen. He glanced up at Leela with a worried look. "We're right in the path between them and their target."

"Identify your rank and commanding officer, Doctor," the disembodied voice demanded over the com system.

"Have any of you taken a good look at those guns?" Ace asked, ignoring the intrusion.

Charley frowned. "What about them?"

"I've seen them before," Ace continued. "These guys don't just mean to blow up that command ship. Guns like that are designed to take half the galaxy out right along with their target."

"Yes, they're weaponized stellar manipulators," the Doctor said low. "I'd noticed."

"They're _what_!" India cried.

Ace gave her a worried glance, and a nod. "I didn't believe it either, at first. Not until I saw one of them in action."

"Identify your rank and commanding officer, or we will open fire on your ship."

That threat finally got the Doctor's attention, and he flipped the switch to open the link again. "On _my _ship?" he answered indignantly. "Never mind the fact that you'd blow us all to pieces in the process, what have I done?"

"You stand in our way."

"Doctor," Ace said tensely. "Whether they fire at us or at that Dalek ship, the black hole the explosion will create is going to pull us in. Can't we just get out of here?"

"No," he answered firmly.

Charley blinked in surprise. "Why not?" she asked, shocked. "Surely the Time Lords don't mean for us to put that bomb - or whatever it is - on _that _ship. Not when it's about to be blown to kingdom come!"

The Doctor reopened the com link. "Is it Davros on that ship?"

"Doctor..." Ace warned.

"Quiet!" he ordered. "All of you!"

The eerie silence that fell on the control room was broken only by the low hum of the time rotor. Finally, the answer came back. But it was not the answer he'd been hoping for.

"Identify your rank and commanding officer. Is that a Tardis you're piloting?"

The Doctor growled in frustration. "Of course it's a Tardis. And I told you, I'm the Doctor. I'm from the Prydonian House of Gallifrey and I have no interest in your war beyond ensuring that you don't collapse this entire bloody galaxy in on itself. Now if you don't mind, I'd appreciate an answer to _my _question."

Another long pause preceded the answer by a different voice. "Doctor, this is Commander Levistil of the Marcuthian United Space Fleet, friends and allies of Gallifrey. We wish you no harm. Please dematerialize your time capsule and allow us to carry out the orders of High Command."

"You still haven't answered my question, commander. Is that Davros on that ship?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because if it is, he's sending out a transmission that is bleeding through time, back to Gallifrey, to a point before this war even started. If you fire a black hole at him, for lack of a more eloquent description, it's entirely possible that the effects of your weapon would ripple back in time, too. And you certainly don't want _that_, do you?"

"Could it do that?" India asked quietly as he waited for a reply.

"I don't know," the Doctor admitted. "But I wouldn't like to find out."

"My orders stand, Doctor," Commander Levistil finally answered. "Please dematerialize your Tardis."

"At least let me _talk _to him!" the Doctor cried. "Davros is s homicidal megalomaniac, but he's not hell bent on self destruction. Far from it, in fact. You clearly have him outnumbered, outgunned. Let me negotiate a surrender, and you can do with him what you like. But don't take the entire galaxy with you!"

The Doctor waited in tense silence for a long moment before the reply finally came, calm and unemotional as ever. "Very well, Doctor. You have ten microspans. I am sending you his com sync address."

The sigh of relief was audible, and the Doctor's shoulders sagged as he leaned forward on the console. "Thank you."

"We wish you luck," Levistil offered. "Lord knows our own negotiations didn't go very far."


	3. Chapter Two - Dancing with the Devil

**CHAPTER TWO**

**DANCING WITH THE DEVIL**

India was nervous. She shouldn't be, she knew. There was no reason to be. Talking to a madman through a com-link was far safer than talking to him face to face. And that, after all, was closer to what they'd come up here to do in the first place. If they could accomplish their goals and never leave the safety of the Tardis, that was infinitely better than climbing aboard a Dalek ship to have a chat with the megalomaniac.

With all of that in mind, she put on her best "nothing bothers me" face and stood back as the Doctor set the com system of the Tardis to direct a call to Davros' ship. Out of the corner of her eye, she was watching Leela - whose "nothing bothers me" face was infinitely more convincing than her own, she was sure. And then there was Ace, who didn't seem to be bothering with any facial expressions at all. She was simply watching, arms across, leaning against one of the pillars.

"I'm getting the strangest sense of déjà vu," Charley said, hugging her arms over her chest in a pose that was much less self-assured than Ace's.

"Really?" the Doctor answered, too casually. He had his "nothing bothers me" face on, too. His was so convincing, India actually found herself wondering if he was even the slightest bit intimidated by the thought of what he was about to do. "What do you mean?"

"You're trying to negotiate with Davros again," she pointed out. "Haven't you already tried that before?"

"I have to get aboard that ship."

India felt her stomach flop. Of course that was still the plan. Why would she think anything had changed? Talking to Davros was only means to an end. In the end, they still had a job to do.

"But why?" India asked, brow furrowed as she considered the many reasons she had to think that everything had changed. "Planting that destabilizer onboard isn't going to do a damn thing when we're separated from Gallifrey by four layers of hyperspatial planes."

"Sure it will." The Doctor glanced up at her. "It'll blow up that ship. And prevent them from taking out half of this galaxy."

India blinked, confused. "You want to use a dimensional correlation destabilizer like a bomb simply to get rid of one ship?"

"You don't like it?" the Doctor asked. It didn't sound like a real question. "It's better than having all those other ships open fire on it with weaponized stellar manipulators."

Charley's eyes narrowed. "And you think making a phone call announcing to the Daleks that you're coming will help to get you safely onboard and back?"

"The Daleks already know I'm here," he said confidently. "I'm not telling them anything they can't already see on their scanners."

"India?" The quiet voice and the hand on her shoulder made her jump, startled, and she laughed tightly as she glanced back at Ace.

"Sorry," she laughed tightly. "Bit jumpy."

Ace smiled reassuringly. "It's okay to be afraid, you know."

India gave an unconvincing shrug. "What is there to be afraid of? He's on the other end of a com link. Pretty harmless."

"But he'll be able to see you. And you'll see him."

India swallowed and looked away. That thought had not completely escaped her. It was almost as worrying as the thought that the only one of them with any actual experience flying this Tardis singlehandedly - to the best of her knowledge, anyway - was going for a stroll onboard a Dalek ship. India had never even touched a real Tardis console, much less one as old and complicated as this one. Her best guess was that Ace had some experience by how comfortable she seemed to be with where things were, but how much could she possibly do on her own, without the Doctor here? And that was assuming that it was even an option to leave the Doctor - dead or alive - which, if she was honest, she didn't really think would happen. She would have some reservations about that herself, unless she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was dead. She had a feeling that the others in the room felt much the same way.

"All I'm saying," Ace continued, "is that you've got nothing to prove as far as I'm concerned. And thinking that you _do_... that's where things get dangerous. You're here. And that alone is _incredibly _brave."

India nodded and hesitated for a long moment as the Doctor tried the first call. "Dalek command ship, this is the Doctor speaking."

"Have you -" India stopped briefly as she realized the complete absurdity of what she was about to ask. Blushing bright red, she looked away. "Never mind."

"No, what?" Ace prodded.

India glanced back at her. "I was going to ask if you ever met before. Davros, I mean. But obviously..."

Ace smiled softly. "The first time I met him, I wasn't much older than you. And I had _no _idea what a major player he was. To me, he was just some guy causing trouble for Earth. Another alien the Doctor made stand in the corner for a while."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

"That's how old my sister is. She likes to think she's a lot older than me, but she's not." India smirked slightly. "Guess it's just the Time Lord in me. And living on Gallifrey. Three years is nothing."

Ace grinned back. "Well, I'm not a Time Lord, and I haven't lived on Gallifrey. But I'd still have to agree with you."

"Dalek command ship, this is the Doctor speaking. Are you receiving me?"

"Doctor." The voice, gravelly and roboticized, answered before the image formed on the scanner. India took a slight step back at the grotesque form. "What a surprise to see you here. I thought you were dead."

"Oh, you know me, Davros. I'm not that easy to kill."

The channel was an open one. The other ships could listen in. And from the amount of interference, India guessed that every one of them was probably doing so. She couldn't blame their curiosity. The Doctor spoke to the creature on the screen with such a casual tone, it was as if they were old friends. What was even more surprising was the fact that the congeniality was returned.

"Still, your presence here begs the very important question..." Everything polite and friendly dropped from the creature's broken voice at once. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk," the Doctor answered confidently. "To negotiate."

Davros scoffed. "There is nothing to negotiate. You have nothing I want."

"Look around you, Davros," the Doctor warned. "You're surrounded. And those guns pointed at your ship aren't just for show."

"You have a point?"

"You've lost. That means you're negotiating for your life."

"And what makes you think that I am willing to negotiate for my life?"

"I know you, Davros. You're not one to give up breathing so easily. And you know full well there's nothing to be gained in martyrdom."

"You are wrong, Doctor. It is in surrender that there is nothing to be gained."

"You've been a prisoner enough times to know that while there's life, however miniscule and oppressed that life may be, there is hope. What kind of hope do you think there will be at the center of a black hole?"

"You are a fool, Doctor." The creature's voice was low and mocking as he sneered through his words. "You think that my life still matters - that it matters even to me. But I do not need your salvation. I have seen what becomes of your people, your precious planet."

"Be careful how much certainty you place in a paradox, Davros," the Doctor said flatly. "Especially one that involves the Time Lords."

The laugh that answered the Doctor was nothing short of maniacal. "My Daleks shall become the Lords of Time!"

India tensed at those familiar words. It wasn't only the words, but the tone, the emphasis, the insanity. She had heard it before, heard that voice before. The transmission that Davros was sending out, between the ships, was the very same transmission the communication center on Gallifrey had picked up. The signal that had alarmed them and alerted them that a war was coming. It was the signal that was bleeding across the timeline. Or maybe it was bleeding across _all _timelines. She shivered at that thought.

"You shall surrender Gallifrey, or you will all die! We shall sweep away Gallifrey and exterminate all who stand in our way!" He paused, and lowered his voice to a dark, threatening tone. "Your precious planet shall be a smoldering heap of ruin and decay before the end, Doctor. And my Daleks shall take possession of all Gallifrey's dominions as spoils of war. Every weapon, every Tardis, every Time Lord and every sniveling child who stands in the ranks of your pathetic army. We shall rule the Vortex, and all of space and time!"

The Doctor must have noticed it, too. But he didn't flinch. Voice low and cold, he stared back at the screen, unmoved. "Not 'we', Davros," he corrected. "Not if you're dead."

"It shall not be the first time, Doctor. It certainly shall not be the last."

"What does he mean?" India asked tensely, but the Doctor held up a hand to silence her. She bit her tongue. She knew better than to interrupt. But the tension was growing by the minute, and it was making her more and more anxious.

"This is different, Davros," the Doctor continued. "You're not being left to drift in space or rot away in a cell somewhere. There are at least three dozen ships out here and their guns are all pointed directly at you. My mercy, for whatever it's worth, isn't going to save you this time."

"Take my life then." The threat was gone, replaced once again by a confident sneer. "Losing it means nothing in comparison to all I have gained. In fact, I will give it to you. As a gift."

India tensed, standing up straighter in perfect sync with the Doctor. She didn't like the sound of that. But as she took a step back, the Doctor took a step forward. The hum in the background of the transmission was growing, and Davros cackled wildly.

"Davros, stop this!" the Doctor cried. "I can help you!"

But the madman only laughed as the ships surrounding him no doubt scrambled to man their defenses. Unfortunately, their greatest defense was their offense. And India realized that at the same moment the Doctor did.

"Doctor, get us out of here!" Charley demanded. Apparently she'd realized it, too.

"Ace, man that panel," he ordered tensely, pointing to the other side of the console. "India, over there. We're going to have to -"

The explosion that rocked the Tardis sent them all sprawling across the floor. The maniacs screams of laughter were still echoing in the console room as India reeled from the shellshock, along with a deafening roar. It sounded like a hurricane rushing by their ears.

"Up! Up!" the Doctor yelled. "Everybody! Now! Ace, nearest vortex entrance! India, external gravitational stabilizer - set it as high as it goes!"

India obeyed without thought. At least, she tried to do. Scrambling to the console, she stared at the controls frantically. External gravitational stabilizer. Where the bloody hell was the external gravitational stabilizer on a Type 40 console? Frantic, confused, and with hands shaking from the stress, she wracked her brain for anything that might give her a clue.

"Doctor, I -"

She didn't have a chance to finish before his hand darted in front of her, flipping what she hoped was the right switch and adjusting the toggle and dial beside it one handed, without looking. His eyes were on what his other hand was doing.

She felt the jolt as the Tardis switched to full manual, and the Doctor glanced up at her briefly. "Remember that talk about the dimensional stabilizer?"

"Yes," she answered shakily, wiping her eyes roughly with one hand as she gripped the edge of the console with the other. Why the hell were her eyes watering? Now was _not _the time for that!

"Get ready to see how it works."

She held her breath as she closed her eyes. But the sound of Leela's voice made her open them again.

"Doctor?" The woman was holding onto one of the pillars that rose up around the console, head back as she stared up at the projection above them. "What is that thing?"

The Doctor looked up quickly, then did a double take. His hands stopped moving as he stared. India didn't even want to look, but she couldn't help it. Above them, an enormous mass of silver lightning, balled up in the shape of a Marcuthian time ship was slowly parting into two sections. The sound of cackling electricity and screaming metal was suddenly so loud, even inside the Tardis, that India covered her ears instinctively as the jagged edges parted like massive jaws revealing an empty chasm of blackness inside. The Tardis groaned, resisting, but suddenly, they were falling towards the monstrosity.  
>The Doctor's hands moved again. The time rotor rose and fell as the Tardis struggled to escape the pull of the massive thing that India could scarcely describe, let alone name. The wrenching sound of metal being peeled apart grew even louder as Davros' command ship fell into the darkness, past the jagged teeth of the weapon - for a weapon was all that it could possibly be. And then, suddenly, the light in the console room was blinding. Shielding her eyes with her arm, India cried out in pain at the searing white glare, and lost her balance as the Tardis lurched. She stumbled, and fell sprawled on the ground, instinctively covering her head with her arms as she curled up and waited in terror for the assault on her senses to subside.<p>

Then... nothing. Darkness. Silence but for the ringing in her ears. Still too terrified to move, she finally tried to take in a breath. Tried... and succeeded. She could hear the sound of her breath, echoing in the space between her arms and the floor. She was alive. And faintly, as the ringing in her ears subsided, she could hear the steady rhythm of the time rotor. The Tardis was alive, too.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and peeked through her arms. Leela was beside her, gradually pulling herself to her feet. She wasn't the only one still alive, then. She drew in a deep, shaky breath, and slowly uncovered her head, looking around her at the calm, unscathed control room.

"Everybody okay?" Ace's voice.

India's hands were shaking. She balled them up tight as she pressed them into the cold floor and pushed herself up. But she couldn't find her voice to join in with the others in answer.

"India?" Charley asked.

India looked up just in time to see her approach, and reach out to touch her. She flinched back.

"I'm fine!" she managed, her voice trembling. She looked away, crossing her arms tightly across her chest to try and hide the shivering. "I'm not hurt."

Charley backed away, giving her much needed space to pull herself together. India closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

"Doctor?" Ace asked tensely. "What the hell just happened?"

"I'm not sure," the Doctor admitted. He sounded just as uneasy.

"What was that thing?" Charley whispered. India looked up, in the Doctor's direction, to see his response.

"I haven't the foggiest idea. Some sort of..." He shook his head, trying to come up with a workable theory. But he had nothing. "Gravitational detonator? Contained in a ship? I've never seen anything like it."

"Whatever it was, it's wreaking havoc with the navigational system," Ace said tensely. "These readings are..."

"Wrong," the Doctor finished as she trailed off. His brow was furrowed as he stared at the console. "It's like we're stuck in some kind of hyperspatial anomaly."

"What does that mean?" Leela demanded.

"It means..." The Doctor checked the coordinates again, and shook his head slowly. "I haven't a clue where we are."


	4. Chapter Three - Lost

**CHAPTER THREE**

**LOST**

Nothing was where it belonged. Drifting in empty space, seemingly light years from any entrance to the Vortex, the Doctor couldn't get a handle on either his spatial or temporal coordinates. He would have guessed that the confusion of not arriving on New Earth after putting in the proper coordinates was evidence of some fault in the Tardis except for one very significant fact: he hadn't the slightest idea where he actually was.

Without a recognizable star system or galaxy, it was virtually impossible to recalibrate the Tardis if she was confused. But more importantly, he hadn't thought a place _existed _in the universe where he would recognize absolutely nothing. In all of the places he'd traveled, the things that he'd seen, it was very rare that he found himself lost when he had the stars and systems to look at - with or without a functioning Tardis to map them. But these stars weren't familiar, not from any angle.

The Tardis had been drifting for several days by his internal clock. In all that time, they had come across nothing familiar and not a single entrance to the Vortex. He was beginning to think that the explosion may have pulled them into a parallel universe. Or worse...

"Have you figured out where we are yet?"

India's voice interrupted his thoughts, and he cast her a glance before turning back to the console, shaking his head. "You know, it's the strangest thing," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "I managed to stabilize the navigational system but the coordinates... And even the sky itself; everything is just _wrong_."

She hugged herself as she came to stand next to him, eyes scanning over the various instruments, trying to make sense of them. Maybe that's what he needed, a pair of fresh eyes; young eyes. Not that he expected her to have any better idea of where they were than he did, but if she could spot something - anything - that could help them, he would be happy to accept the help.

She tapped the base timing regulator. "Shouldn't that be at 7.24/Alpha if that," she pointed to the functionality modulation dial, "is set to 'full'?"

"This Tardis has always idled a bit low," he explained. "If I turn that up a full point to seven, I'll start burning things out underneath the console. And I don't feel much like doing major repairs today."

She nodded wordlessly, hugging herself tighter, and he tipped his head as he studied her curiously.

"You certainly pay attention to details."

She shrugged, her eyes never leaving the console. "I guess. Didn't seem to do me much good the other day."

He raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

"I couldn't find the external gravitational stabilizer when you needed me to. Maybe if I had, we wouldn't be in this mess."

He gave her a funny look, not immediately sure what she was talking about. He had to remind himself of the instrument's function to remember when and why he'd asked her to find it. "Well, apparently one of us found it. If we hadn't, we would've fallen into that... thing. Whatever it was."

"You did." She sighed, shifting uneasily. "But I can't help thinking that if I had found it when you told me to, you could've focused on other things. Maybe we wouldn't be lost."

He studied her for a moment, reading the self-disappointment on her face, in her posture. Finally, he grinned. "Do you know how many times I failed my year five tests before my instructors at the Academy even let me touch a real console?"

She looked up at him and frowned. "How many?" she finally asked, clearly wary.

"Fifteen." There was mischief in his eyes as hers widened in shock. "Of course, one of those times was because I hacked the games database on the projection and was playing Marocian Theories when they came to get the results. And then they gave it to me on paper instead of projection, and that was another time I failed because I turned the booklet into an origami zoo..."

She blinked at him, stunned and confused. "An... origami zoo?"

His smile grew. "I had animals from all over the universe! Of course, I'd only seen them in books. My instructor told me that was the only way I'd ever get to see them. I'd never seen a man's face turn so red..."

She frowned. Clearly, she didn't know what to think, what to say. After a long pause, she finally managed, "So... how _did _you finally pass?"

"The same way you did." He looked at her steadily, his smile a bit softer. "On your first try."

She blinked. "You... you had time to look at my grades?"

"No," he admitted. "But am I right?"

She drew in a breath, and glanced down at the console again. "I studied for days for that test," she answered quietly. "I passed it the first time but... just barely. There were other students who hardly spent any time at all in that lab and they scored almost twice as high."

"That's not the point."

She cast him a wary glance, out of the corner of her eye. "What is?"

"That there were students who _could've _scored twice as high and instead scored twice as low. Yes, you had to try. But you _succeeded_. They didn't."

Her eyes dropped again, her sullen disappointment returning. "It still didn't prepare me for flying your Tardis." She gave a short, uneasy laugh. "Maybe they should have a class on how to fly these old beaters, just in case of emergencies or artificial black holes."

He smirked. "This is the only Type-40 still in operation. Even if they did still offer that class, this console has to be learned by experience." He paused. "But you can learn it. You can learn to pilot it singlehandedly, just like I do. Because you're more than capable of that."

She looked up at him, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "You think so?"

He studied her for a moment, contemplatively, then cast a glance up at the time rotor, humming softly as his ship breathed in steady rhythm. The Tardis was calm, completely unaffected by the uncertainty of their current situation, though he couldn't be sure if it was because she didn't _realize _what had happened or she really did just trust him to work it out. Either way, she showed no signs of distress. Considering for a moment longer, he glanced back at India.

"Put your hands on the time rotor."

Raising a curious brow, she leaned across the console and laid her hands on the rotor as he pushed off the console and turned to the systems access panel. She had to balance on her tiptoes to reach, and she staggered, a bit wobbly.

"What are you doing?" she asked curiously.

There were some systems he accessed regularly - daily, even. The scanner controls, the atmospheric toner... Then there were others he had never touched, or ones that he had only needed once. The memories of where to find those command paths were buried deep, in the early days of his life, the quizzes and instructions from his Academy days. India probably remembered them better than he did. He smiled at that as he finally found what he was looking for, glanced once more at her to make certain that she had complied, then looked up at the time rotor as he entered the final keystroke. The time rotor stilled, and it soft blue glow slowly shifted as the artron energy locked safely inside of the Tardis Matrix came alive.

Immediately, he stepped away from the access panel and moved closer to India, leaning forward to place his hands over hers against the quickly warming center of the console. Suddenly realizing what he'd done, her eyes grew wide as she looked between him and their conjoined hands. She tried to pull back instinctively, but he held her palms against the rotor.

"It's okay," he said reassuringly.

"What... Why... You're going to interface me with your Tardis?" she cried in shock. "Are... Is this a good idea? I'm... I'm not even fully Gallifreyan!"

"Relax," he said calmly. "She'll either be able to join with you or she won't. But hopefully..." The warm, gold energy swirled inside of the time rotor and finally, slowly, crept through the glass, channeling into the hands against the surface. "Hopefully she'll recognize the similarity between the two of us."

The Doctor drew in a breath as he felt the tingling spread from his palms, slowly up his arms. India's breath caught as she felt it too. "Is... is this going to hurt?"

"No," he answered calmly. "It'll just feel a little strange."

The sensation was not unpleasant. But he was more focused on India than on what he was feeling. The tension gradually released as she relaxed, and stared up at the time rotor in awe. "Wow..."

He smiled.

In spite of her awe, she tipped her head back and held her breath - probably instinctively - as the artron energy slowly spread across her chest and slowly up her neck. "It's okay," he whispered. "Breathe it in."

Hesitating only a moment, she drew in a deep breath. He watched her closely as her eyes slid closed and the Tardis accessed her mind and her memories, her emotions and sensations and experiences, all for the first time.

_Be careful with her_, he pleaded silently. _You can see she's not completely like me... _

The only response was a wash of calm, like a mother's soothing touch. And he slowly withdrew his hands from over hers as he felt the Tardis share the very top layers of her own experiences, careful not to overwhelm the half-human girl.

India stood still for several minutes, absorbing and communing with his time-ship. Eventually the artron energy slowly receded and died down and India's arms dropped heavily, hands barely catching the edge of the console as she stumbled back.

"Are you alright?" the Doctor asked, smiling as he watched her take a few calming breaths. She looked better than alright. She looked absolutely blissful.

She nodded, and the motion made her swoon a bit. He took a step forward just in case she lost her balance, but she gripped the edge of the console tighter to keep that from happening. With unfocused, slightly glazed eyes, she looked back up at the rotor, eyes slightly glazed. "I saw... everything," she breathed. "It was like... like I could _see _time... And space was... I could feel it!"

He chuckled. "Pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"I..." She shook her head slightly, as if in disbelief. "I've never felt anything like it."

"Can you feel her? Inside your mind?"

India cut her gaze away from him, concentrating for a moment. When she looked back at him, her eyes were a bit wider, and she nodded slightly. "I... yeah. Yeah, I can..."

He watched her with a smile that faded slowly as he remembered why, from the moment India had stepped onboard his beloved ship, he had known that he had needed to interface the two of them. No matter what happened to him now, she and the Tardis would together be able to get anyone onboard to safety. With India's telepathic link, and Ace's knowledge of the console... he wasn't necessary anymore.

*X*X*X*

The knock on the door was not entirely unexpected. The young, thin girl who stepped through did, however, catch Romana a bit off guard. She had not seen the Doctor's elder daughter in many years, and it was a bit of a shock to see her as a nearly-grown woman rather than the child she remembered.

"The uh... the dog told me you wanted to see me," she said uneasily, stepping into the office.

Leela's K-9 - well, rightly Julia's K-9 now that Leela had left him in charge of her safety - skirted around her and greeted Romana brightly. "Madame President!"

"Hello, K-9," Romana smiled back. She turned her smile to Julia, who was lingering near the door. "Please, come in."

Julia closed the door behind her as she approached the desk, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear as she sat down in the chair across from Romana. "So," she started with a hint of nervousness. "Don't think I ever thought about what I would say if I got called in front of the president."

Romana chuckled. "Relax. You're not in any trouble."

"Oh, good." Julia let out a breath. "Because this is a whole lot worse than getting called to the dean's office."

"I just wanted to check on you. I promised the Doctor I would."

"Oh." She shifted, and placed a smile on her lips. "Yeah, I'm great. School is great. Everything's great..."

Romana raised a brow at the simplicity of the virtual non-answer. "Great?"

Julia nodded wordlessly.

Romana hesitated for a long moment before she folded her hands on the desk and tipped her head, studying the uneasy girl. "I've received a number of requests from parents of Academy students that they would be allowed to return to their home planets in light of new developments in the Dalek Crisis. I don't know how much you're aware of what's been happening, but the energy traces from the Dalek ships have gone again. It's safe to leave the planet, though I don't know for how long."

Julia's smile tightened, and she nodded. "Why are you telling me this?"

"The Doctor would've never simply left you behind to die in a Dalek invasion."

"The Doctor didn't leave me behind," she answered frankly. "I asked to stay."

"And he allowed it. Because the previous alternative would've been just as dangerous, if not more so. You and he and I all knew that."

"Are you going to order me to leave the planet?"

Romana hesitated, caught slightly off guard by the shift from tense fidgeting to a forward demand. "I hadn't considered that it would be necessary to order you."

Julia sighed. "Look, Madame President... I really don't want to be rude. But the fact is, I know the Daleks are coming. I know they're going kill a lot of people. And I knew all of that when I decided to stay. I made an informed decision to take the risk."

Romana raised a brow, studying her carefully, and Julia sighed audibly at the scrutiny.

"Look, I _know_ the Daleks are up there. I know they want to come down here and destroy everything. But you've got to understand. I'm _human_. I am a human in the Prydonian Academy and I'm _passing_! Do you know how rare that is?"

Romana nodded calmly. "I do."

"I can do this. I have the _chance _to do this, and to prove wrong every one of those bastards who said that I couldn't." She caught her words after the fact, and bowed her head slightly. "Um... sorry."

"You won't have the opportunity to prove them wrong if you're dead."

"It's been ten years since the Daleks threatened us last time," Julia said, her tone pleading for understanding. "It could be another fifty before they land. All I want - all I've _ever _wanted - is a chance to prove that just because I'm human doesn't make me less important, less capable, less determined than any of them. If anything, it makes me _more_. To me, the chance to prove that - just the _chance _- is worth the risk."

Romana felt a faint smile cross her lips. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you've rehearsed this a few times."

Julia sighed again. "I don't know the Doctor very well. But I do know my mother. And I know that she wouldn't have let me stay here if she hadn't had some hope to hold onto that I would get out of here alive."

"She loves you very much."

"I know." Julia's expression was pained as she looked up again and met Romana's gaze. "But this is my life," she whispered. "It's my choice. Whether I live or die, whether I run or I stay... I know the risks. I understand them; I swear, I do. But please... Please don't take this away from me."

Romana studied her for a long moment. There was something more behind her eyes. Something she was not telling - perhaps something she would never tell. It didn't matter what the secret was. Whatever her reasons, Julia wanted nothing more than to stay on Gallifrey - to die on Gallifrey if it came to that. Romana didn't fully understand the reasons. But that look - the same determined look that the Doctor had given her on more than one occasion - told her that she didn't have to understand. All she had to do was to decide whether or not she would respect the decision that had already been made.

"My guards are going to come to your room tomorrow morning to take you to the ship," she said quietly, lowering her eyes slightly. "While I would like you to be there with your things packed, if you happen to be missing," she glanced up briefly, "I simply cannot waste the time and resources it would take to find you before that ship leaves in the afternoon."

Julia gave a faint, genuine smile as she nodded, and rose to her feet. "Thank you," she breathed, sincerely.

Romana nodded, but didn't answer as the girl called for her K-9, then turned and headed for the door, slipping out quietly and closing it behind her.


	5. Chapter Four - Taking Charge

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**TAKING CHARGE**

Romana hadn't known for certain where Braxiatel was. But when she'd been unable to find him in the capitol, and being one of the few people with the fortitude to check his personal quarters, she had determined that it was more likely that he was not here than that he had found a quiet place to hide away where no one would find him. The latter was simply not his style.

Figuring that it would draw more attention to his absence if she put out a notice that she wanted to talk to him, she had instead dismissed her guards and come to the Tardis docking bays with K-9 to wait. She was not the least bit surprised when she found his Tardis missing, in spite of all the safety protocols in place to prevent it from leaving the planet. She was also not surprised when it reappeared about ten minutes later, not an inch to the right or left of where it had been when he'd removed it.

She waited a moment before standing and brushing off her robes, then walked to the door and politely knocked. It took him a long moment to answer. Long enough to check the scanner, she was sure. And it was no wonder, since he finally opened the door in clothes that looked period specific to 16th century Earth. Staring at her in "caught" surprise, he nevertheless wore a confident smile on his face.

"Madame President," he greeted, closing the door behind K-9 as he trailed in behind her. "Is everything alright?"

She smirked over her shoulder at him, shoes clacking on the hard, smooth floor. "Aside from the fact that my security protocols seem a bit less than adequate, I would dare say everything is just fine."

He chuckled. "You know better than to make that judgment based solely on my ability to slip through them."

"You're lucky you weren't caught. And in any case, I'm surprised you risk coming back still wearing that." She nodded to his attire as he unfastened the frilly, Elizabethan era collar and dropped it on the console. She couldn't quite hide her smile as she ribbed him. "Love the mustache, by the way."

"Thank you." He smoothed both sides down. "I was fully planning on changing and shaving it off before emerging, but I was interrupted."

"At least you weren't interrupted by the chancellery guard."

He shrugged. "It would've taken them some time to get the master key for the lock."

She sat down in the chair near the console, glancing around the interior of his Tardis. It had been quite a while since she'd had any reason to be in here, but it hadn't changed. Decorated in soft, subtle tones, it had a "homey" feel to it that her own - arranged purely for the sake of practicality - did not.

"I'd ask how you _did_ manage to get past the transduction barrier without alerting traffic control, but I'm more interested in how you made it past the Daleks." She glanced back at him. "I'd heard their energy traces disappeared with the Doctor, but I was reluctant to send anyone or thing up there to check. I suppose I should thank you for ensuring that they really were gone and they didn't just cloak themselves somehow."

He leaned back against his console in a casual pose that seemed most unlike him, arms folded loosely over his chest. Of course, many things about him seemed unusual at the moment. The clothes, the slightly frazzled hair, the mustache and goatee... Aside from all of that, he was clearly in a wonderful mood. In and of itself, that was in stark contrast to his normally stoic-but-confident demeanor.

"I never would have attempted to leave if I'd thought they were still out there," he reassured her. "I may have the occasional reckless tendency, but I'm not suicidal."

She smirked again. "_Occasional_ reckless tendency?"

He quirked an eyebrow and matched her smile. He didn't need to qualify her statement with an answer. They both knew that if not for his position, and his unwillingness to risk losing it, he would have been the first to throw himself into a high risk situation with a chance of significant personal gain. In other cultures, where money was the greatest measure of power, he might have been a compulsive gambler.

"Have I missed anything interesting in my absence?" he asked, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and then reaching up to his neck to work on the buttons there. They looked damn near tight enough to cut off his circulation.

"Your absence was brief enough to go unnoticed, for the most part," she answered. "Though the Nekkestani prime minister has bypassed you - with some irritation, I might add - and begun calling _my _office at intervals of fifteen microspans or so, waiting for a report on exactly what our plans are for the Daleks."

Braxiatel rolled his eyes. "Of course he has."

She grinned. "I considered patching him through to Rodak's office, but I thought that might not be good for diplomatic relations in any sense of the term."

"Might have been amusing, nonetheless. Though if the Monan Host calls..."

"Which they will. Everyone wants to be reassured that Gallifrey has this completely under control." She sighed audibly. "How fortunate for me that I have the task of reassuring them."

"And how fortunate for all of us that your skills in that regard have never been lacking."

Ignoring his boost of confidence, she tipped her head and smiled a bit wider. "I really _should _pass along their concerns to Rodak. Perhaps give them his private number."

Braxiatel chuckled. "As delightful as that sounds, we _do_ need to keep some of our allies if we expect to have even a ghost of a chance in this war."

"Well Rodak hasn't exactly equipped me to answer any of their questions," she continued, reclining and crossing her legs comfortably. "I still haven't the foggiest idea what he intends to do with all of those unmanned trenches up there in the sky. He went through a hell of a lot of effort to _put _them there, and there they sit."

"Oh, I'm certain he has plans for them," Braxiatel answered confidently. "But if you want to know what they are, I suspect you're going to have to use a bit of political muscle, as it were."

"Political muscle?" Romana raised a brow. "All of my muscles were fairly well excised in that damned inquiry. At this point all I can really do is give our allies excuses and half-informed suggestions of what _might _be happening regarding the Dalek Crisis. Over which I have no jurisdiction."

"Well, last time I checked, you were still President of the High Council of Gallifrey."

"To which the CIA has never been required to give report."

"Dailyreports, no. But that doesn't mean they're unaccountable."

Romana frowned as she watched him casually study his hands, his nails, as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Rodak managed to cut me out of the picture in the face of what is arguably the greatest threat ever posed to Gallifrey," she reminded him. "And you think he would give an answer to the High Council?"

Braxiatel dropped his arms, placing his hands on the edge of the console behind him. "In all honesty, no. Not really. But think of this, Romana." He sidestepped the console and grabbed up the collar from the controls. "He didn't cut you out of the picture singlehandedly. Certain others are likely expecting some form of quip pro quo, and I suspect they'll be very cooperative in making him uncomfortable if it helps them to get it."

She smirked. "That doesn't help me, Braxiatel. I don't even know what those arrangements were. Unless, of course, you'd care to enlighten me."

"Bring him to task in front of the High Council," Braxiatel advised. "He went to an awful lot of trouble to secure the power he has now. And to secure the Council's confidence that he was well equipped to handle the responsibility that came along with it." He paused briefly as he turned and headed for the hallway. "In my humble opinion, it is beyond time he learn the full scope of that responsibility."

She frowned, then slowly nodded as she put the pieces together. "And his responsibilities would include reports to the Council if, in fact, he is solely responsible for Gallifrey's safety. The same way that mine did before he all but put me on trial."

Braxiatel half turned toward her again, still walking backwards toward the hallway. Head tipped down, he smiled at her knowingly, eyes full of mischief that made her smile back. "My thoughts exactly, Madame President."

*X*X*X*

"The High Council wishes to know the current status of your defensive strategies, Coordinator Rodak."

Rodak would have preferred to have these discussions in the new council chambers instead of the old. Nowadays, there was a table to sit at, and one called to speak to the council felt more like he was entering into a conversation and less like he was standing in front of a royal throne. Rodak suspected that the choice to have this meeting here had been very deliberate.

The president's seat, flanked on either side by the councilors, was left over from the early days of government, when the distinction between "president" and "king" was a minor one. The elected president had held much more power back then, and had commanded more formal gestures of respect. Bowing, for instance, and high titles full of flattery. The seat was as near to a throne as Gallifrey had ever allowed, and the fact that it was a slight-framed woman sitting there in her white presidential robes did little to alleviate the tension of being called to stand before it.

With his head held high, posture impeccably straight, the CIA coordinator had his own support on either side - his two highest ranking operatives. They would support him - defend him, if need be - come hell or high water.

"In spite of the setbacks we have faced, I am pleased to report that the sky trenches have been established. Lord Fellos suggested that instead of approaching the Dalek fleet to find a suitable -"

"Coordinator, no one here is interested in _how _you carried out your duties," Councilor Panteral interrupted. "Save me, I suppose, and I can read your report if I feel so inclined. What we all very much would like to know is what you have done."

"You were named the highest authority in Gallifrey's security," Councilor Marstis reminded him. "You have control, for what it's worth, over the Dalek Crisis. So what, exactly, are your plans for securing Gallifrey?"

Rodak took a breath. "There are currently 277 sky trenches above us. We hope to have an additional two hundred by the end of the week. Most planets under siege are adequately defended by one. If they're expecting a real battle, they implement five. That's considered by most to be pure overkill."

"Five _manned _trenches," Romana pointed out, eyes locked hard on him. "Your 277 trenches are nothing more than so many pockets in the sky if you can't put soldiers and weapons in them."

"The front lines have been manned by volunteers from among my own operatives and the chancellery guard. They are currently setting up weapons systems that can be operated remotely, so as to minimize the loss of life. Even with a skeleton crew such as I have to work with presently, we will be more than able to hold our position for several weeks while we formulate an army."

"And how do you intend to 'formulate' this army?" Braxiatel challenged. "All you have told us so far seems to rest on the shoulders of an army you've not yet explained how you will acquire."

Rodak studied Braxiatel for a long moment. Suddenly, he felt baited. It was a rhetorical question, coming from the High Chancellor, who was watching him with an amused look. Ever since Rodak had learned that it was not the Doctor who had broken into the CIA's database, he'd known who it was. Braxiatel already knew exactly what Rodak's plans were. He was calling him out.

"That army will be acquired through new allegiances with new allies."

A murmur passed between the Councilors. Only Romana, with a look of pure contempt, and Braxiatel did not take their eyes off of him. But neither of them were the first to speak. "You expect aliens to fight for Gallifrey?" Marstis asked, appalled.

"Not at all," Rodak answered with a confident smile. "I intend to use the technology offered by these new allies to build the army we need."

"What sort of technology?" Marstis demanded.

"More importantly," Romana interrupted, "what sort of allies?"

"Gallifrey is no stranger to war," Rodak began. "It is believed that our earliest, most ancient ancestors were themselves war-like creatures, so much so that the word 'Gallifreyan' as derived from the old high language literally means, 'he that walks in shadows'. Our earliest records speak of the War of Enlightenment, the legendary hero Ao for whom the sixth great constellation is named. It was our ancestors who created the Death Zone, for pity's sake, purely for amusement. And it wasn't for alien races that it was originally constructed!"

"Spare us the history lesson, Coordinator," Romana sighed.

"It has been many generations since we have had need of a proper army, but that army, in its time, was truly formidable." He paused, and looked over his audience. They were all watching him carefully, most with curiosity although Romana's face showed only impatience. "And the minds of those infamous heroes - Apeiron, Yassinbur, General Kopyion Liall a Mahajetsu and the commanders of the Vampire Wars, sixteen thousand soldiers for each of the Bow Ships that put an end to the Eternal Wars... All of these minds are stored today inside of the APCNet."

"If they are, they rest in eternal peace," Marstis answered coldly. "Where we have no right to disturb them."

Rodak was prepared for this objection, and he stepped forward slightly, rising to meet the challenge.  
>"If they knew the danger we face now, do you think they would hesitate to stand and defend Gallifrey? Would any one of us in this room refuse to do the same? These are soldiers; they lived and died in the service of Gallifrey!"<p>

"And in their service and death, they have paid their debt in full," Marstis argued.

Rodak turned his attention to the other members of the council. Namely, to Darkel and Panteral since the Madame President was still glaring at him and he was almost certain he could say nothing to move Braxiatel in the slightest.

"How many weapons of warfare known to them have, for lack of necessity, not survived? We need those weapons now! We need the secrets of the N-forms, and the minds to reformulate them to hunt Dalek mutations rather than vampiric viruses. General Mirraflex himself could be consulted for battle strategy!"

"You're wrong, Coordinator," Marstis interrupted.

Rodak paused and looked to him for an explanation.

"As keeper of the Matrix, it is my duty to inform you that the Matrix contains no record of the Eternal Wars. The heroes you speak of - the ones we teach as points of legend and heroism - may or may not have even existed. The APCNet is likewise very empty and vague when it comes to the topic of the Eternal Wars. Many keepers before me have suggested that the complete absence of verifiable information on the subject was a result of sabotage. Perhaps even by Rassilon himself."

"And what about Rassilon?" Rodak answered smoothly. "Is his mind not safely inside of the APCNet? Did he not have knowledge of all that his war chiefs planned and created?"

Again, glances were exchanged.

"Fourteen different races have launched direct attacks on Gallifrey and each of them were defeated. The soldiers that protected us are stored inside the APCNet. And perhaps more importantly, Time Lords who understood how the weapons of warfare sealed inside of our vaults are to be used. These are resources we will _need _if we hope to ensure the continued stability of Gallifrey, the Web of Time, and the universe as a whole. And they are resources that we, as Time Lords, have a right to utilize. They are our ancestors. The APCNet wasn't constructed as a graveyard. We are entitled to call on them; this is how Rassilon always intended it."

"The minds of these great Time Lords," Darkel said curiously, "what exactly do you propose to do with them?"

"I intend to recreate bodies for them."

Darkel was clearly shocked by that, and confused. "From the looms, you mean?"

"Uninhabited flesh with no mind of its own," Rodak clarified. "Such basic life forms can be created in the looms in a single day."

"And then what?" Marstis asked. "You are saying that you have found a way to fuse minds from the APCNet to a new body? To resurrect them, as it were?"

"The technology has existed for so long, none of us even remember what it's used for," Rodak answered. "But now we have knowledgeable allies at our side. Allies who are willing to show us the practical uses of mythological resurrection in ways you have never even thought possible."

He paused, and his eyes swept over each of them. "Any Time Lord whose presence is, was, or ever will be recorded in the Matrix, whose name and character is known, can be recreated with any modifications their weavers see fit. Faster, stronger, smarter, and with all the memories and characteristics that made them great warriors in their original bodies. This is what we have been offered. And I have already entered into negotiations that will ensure that this is the future for Gallifrey - not servitude and extermination at the hand of the Daleks."

"You still haven't answered my question," Romana said coolly. "Who are these allies? I'd be very interested to know what sort of 'negotiations' you have entered into with a foreign government behind _this _government's back."

"They are former members of the House of Lungbarrow," Rodak announced. "Though they have not claimed that lineage in many, many years."

"What the Coordinator is trying to say," Braxiatel interrupted, never taking his eyes from Rodak. He was smiling as he spoke, loudly and clearly. "Is that he has made an arrangement with Faction Paradox."

The collective gasp could not be contained, or ignored.


	6. Chapter Five - Secrets

**A/N: Sorry for not posting last week... little issue of a Cat 5 hurricane that blew through my backyard and left us without power for over a week. Made a mess of the town, too...**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**SECRETS**

"You knew," Romana said coldly, eyes locked on Braxiatel. He had lingered a bit longer than the others, but now he was on his way to the door as well, and without a word to her.

He paused before he reached it, and turned back, offering her a nod. "Yes, Madame President, I did."

"And you didn't _tell _me?"

He sighed, but didn't answer as she shook her head in disbelief.

"The threat posed by Faction Paradox was so great that they were not only exiled from Gallifrey, but all record of their existence was sealed inside the Matrix," Romana continued. "As far as the people of Gallifrey are concerned, they're nothing but a myth, a legend! All of this to ensure that no attempt was ever made to bring them back from their sealed, pocket universe where they could do no harm to the Web of Time. Now Rodak has not only found but begun _negotiating _with them? And you didn't think this was important?"

Braxiatel walked back toward her slowly, hands linked behind his back. "Of course I recognized the importance, Madame President. But in light of everything else on your plate at the time, I saw no reason to overburden you."

The anger hit Romana like a torch thrown on dry kindling. It took her breath away for a moment, made her chest constrict and her shoulders tighten as a thousand angry comebacks flooded her mind. It was hard to settle on just one as she grit her teeth.

"You condescending, arrogant, egotistical, patronizing -

Braxiatel sighed again. "Madame President, you're entirely too kind."

"- _bastard_!"

He looked back at her calmly.

With all the control she had learned from centuries of being who and what she was, she continued evenly, jaw still clenched. "You didn't want to _overburden _me?"

"I couldn't tell you, Romana."

"You _chose _not to tell me. There's a difference."

"And had I chosen otherwise, your only option would have been to report me to the High Council for gross negligence if not outright violation of the laws of time. You can see why I had little incentive."

"Report you?" she snapped back, glaring daggers at him. "Just as I've done for _centuries _while you've been meeting your other incarnations for tea?"

"That is very different, Romana. And easy to hide, as evidenced by how long it took you or anyone else to figure out I was doing it."

She growled audibly. "I have proven myself worthy of your trust, Braxiatel. You seem to be intent on proving yourself otherwise to me."

"If you had known about my breaking into the CIA database, it would've put you in an awkward position and to what -"

"I don't want to hear it, Chancellor!" she yelled, interrupting him. He fell silent, set his jaw, and lowered his head, giving her a moment to speak her peace. "I'm sure you have a thousand justifications, a thousand reasons why you cannot possibly be held accountable for your actions. And you no doubt have shared them with Coordinator Rodak, since you two seem to have a certain amount of understanding."

He glanced up and raised an innocent, questioning eyebrow, but didn't speak.

"Don't even try it," she warned with a glare. It was all she could do to keep her voice even. "You two set that up beautifully to make this whole thing look like a solution rather than the source of a much bigger problem."

"I'm hardly in league with the CIA," Braxiatel answered coolly.

"I don't believe you."

"You should. I have no greater love for Coordinator Rodak than he has for me. That's been proven time and time again."

"And yet you used him to get rid of the Doctor."

"If anything, he used me. I told you long ago, I have no interest in the Doctor one way or another."

"If he used you, it was because you allowed yourself to be used."

Braxiatel frowned at the accusation. "The Doctor wanted to go," he said firmly. "You ought to know him well enough to trust that he would not have been easily swayed by anything I, the Coordinator, or anyone else said."

"Neither am I, and you've still managed to play me for a fool."

"I gave him a way out," Braxiatel said again, raising his voice just a fraction. "I didn't force him to take it."

"But you knew he would."

"Of course I did. His wishes were well known to all of us."

"Why?" She stood, and stepped down, closer to where he stood. She could feel the anger radiating in her, and growing with each step. "What do you hope to gain from all of this? Not just the Doctor, but all of it."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific."

"It was your recommendation to fire those torpedoes on the Unknown Ship, and I can't help but believe you knew what would happen when you did."

"You're wrong."

"And you lie."

"I withhold information; I do not lie."

"You've had this quiet understanding with Rodak about Project Endgame for Rassilon knows how long."

"I knew of Project Endgame. I knew what it entailed. I never endorsed it, or spoke to Rodak about it."

"But you were the one who suggested to Rodak that he should use the Doctor."

"And had I not done so, your precious Doctor would still be rotting in a cell."

She laughed briefly, mockingly. "You know, Braxiatel, it strikes me as odd that for as well as I know you, you would still think that I am the kind of person who would've allowed that to happen to the one person in all my lives who has never manipulated, used, or lied to me."

"You would've done everything in your power to free him and get him off this planet alive. And you would've failed."

"So you 'rescued' him," she accused coldly. "You told Rodak to have him set off that bomb, and you sent him to the Daleks."

"Yes."

"But you weren't the least bit surprised when he didn't do it."

"No."

"Because it had nothing to do with the bomb, did it?"

He didn't answer, jaw tight, staring her down as she came closer.

"So what was it, Braxiatel?" she demanded. "What made you send him up there?"

"As I've said, he wanted to leave. I gave him a way out."

She shook her head. "No, that's not good enough, Chancellor. Because, you see, I've been waiting for some confirmation that he's not dead. Rodak's been waiting for assurance that he is. But you're not waiting for anything, are you? You know exactly where he is, what happened to him. He's exactly where you wanted him to be. Isn't he?"

Braxiatel didn't answer. His non-answer was enough.

"And you knew what would happen to him before you sent him away," Romana finished, her voice low.

He hesitated a moment longer before shaking his head slightly and answering with complete conviction. "No."

And he was lying.

"What is it you think will be left when the Daleks invade?" she asked. "What do _you_ get out of all this in the end? Because there is nothing you can say, and nothing you can do to make me believe that you haven't orchestrated all of this for the sake of some perceived personal gain."

He glared at her. "The only personal gain I have hoped to achieve, Madame President, is continued longevity, for myself _and _Gallifrey."

"You don't know how much I wish I could believe you. But when I look at the evidence..." She took a step back and shook her head slightly. "How am I supposed to trust you? Would _you _trust you?"

"I don't trust anyone," he answered coolly. "But you know full well that I have very good reasons for what I do. You also know that I have no personal ill will toward the Doctor or his family. I don't _like _him, but I would hardly go out of my way to deliver him into the hands of the Daleks."

"Unless it suited some greater purpose for you."

"For _Gallifrey_!"

She blinked, caught slightly off guard by what almost sounded like an admission of guilt. At the very least, it was a justification for his actions. He lowered his head slightly, glaring at her.

"If I thought that his death could have ensured Gallifrey's safety, I would have cut his hearts out of his chest myself. His, or yours, or my own."

She flinched slightly. She didn't doubt his sincerity in that statement for an instant.

"But it doesn't work that way, Romana," he continued. "This isn't a hostage negotiation; it's an invasion. We don't get to barter for the safety of the planet. And knowing that, what kind of fool would I have to be to execute the one man in the entire universe who has managed to garner some form of reverent fear from the Daleks?"

Romana stared at him for a long moment, then finally shook her head. She'd heard enough. She didn't even know whether to trust his sincerity anymore.

"I would invite you to explain your logic to me," she said quietly. "But frankly, I don't really care to hear it."

Without another word, she turned away. Thankfully, he didn't try to follow.

*X*X*X*

"Did you really come up here to die?"

The Doctor looked up from the console, glancing over his shoulder, but Ace didn't come any closer. She was pretty sure he'd known that she was there from the moment she'd entered the room that he'd barely left in three days. He was exhausted, and he looked it. What was there to even _do _in this room for three days straight? Especially when they weren't really going anywhere.

"I know this drifting in unfamiliar space wasn't part of the plan," she continued as he turned back to the console without answering. Finally, she stepped forward. "But what was? Were we all supposed to die when we set off that bomb?"

"If I'd left Gallifrey with the intention of committing suicide, I wouldn't have brought you with me. Let alone my wife and daughter."

"Yes, you would have."

The Doctor looked up, startled. With a faint smile, Ace stepped up to the console. She touched it gently, the way she might make contact with a skittish animal.

"Me, well... my reasons for living are pretty limited at this point. You know that." She looked up at him. "And you would've taken Charley no matter what."

"What makes you say that?"

"She knows your name."

The Doctor tensed noticeably, and Ace looked away again.

"And you know what they'd do to her to get it."

He hesitated for a long moment. "The Daleks have no interest in my name. I'm sure they have quite a few names of their own for me."

"I wasn't talking about the Daleks."

The silence that fell in the room was so thick, she could've cut it with a knife. Finally, the Doctor looked up, making steady eye contact with Ace. "If Romana wanted my name, she'd already have it."

"Then she's not the one you should be afraid of."

"Should be?" He turned to face her, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied her carefully.

For a long, lingering moment, she simply stared back at him. Then she swallowed hard, and shook her head slightly, eyes pained. "I can't tell you."

"Can't tell me what?" he demanded. "Anything you remember is from a timeline that's been altered. You're a paradox, Ace. You shouldn't even be here. The things that you remember, they didn't happen. They're echoes of a sequence that never happened, and never will."

She nodded slowly, lowering her eyes. "That's what makes it a paradox," she said quietly. "Anything I told you when I arrived on Gallifrey would change things. That's what you told me."

"What I told you?" He hesitated. "I expected you to get back to Gallifrey?"

"You knew that I would." She glanced up briefly. "You remembered that I did."

He straightened noticeably, and she suddenly felt the weight of his stare. He was practically burning holes into her. "We've done this before?" he asked, barely audible even from a few feet away.

"I haven't. But when I met you? With Davros? You said that our timestreams were out of order." She drew in a deep breath and cast a quick glance up at him before she continued. "You wouldn't talk to me about it. You didn't want me to know my future and you didn't want me to know your past. Your family... you never said a word about them. But you had a nightmare once, and you called out her name in your sleep."

"Charley?"

Ace nodded slightly, eyes lowered to the floor again. "I remember asking you if you could go back and do it over again, would you still run. Or would you stay on Gallifrey and fight."

The Doctor took a deep breath and turned to face the console, leaning forward on it with his head dropped between his shoulders. After a pause, he looked up at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.

"You told me that you left Gallifrey to the Daleks out of spite."

The Doctor froze, tensing noticeably, with his hands on the console. Slowly, they tightened into fists and his jaw twitched as he fixed his eyes on the time rotor.

"When I said I didn't believe you, the only answer you would give me was that you couldn't do it over again. That everything had to happen the way that it did."

"_What_ had to happen?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, shaking her head. "I really don't. And I don't think I want to know. I just... I guess I just want to know that when you left Gallifrey, that it really was the best option."

"It was the only option," he answered quietly.

"Because they would've used you?"

He cast her a silent, sideways glance.

"Maybe you don't trust her as much as you think you do." Ace paused, and frowned. "Or maybe you weren't lying."

"It doesn't matter," he said coldly. "She'll die with the rest of them when Gallifrey's invaded."

"You don't believe that."

He raised a brow. "Don't I?"

"You might have no love for your own people -"

"That's not true.

"- but you left Julia there. You wouldn't have just walked away from her without a plan."

"What plan?" His voice turned a bit harder as he stood straight again and faced her. "Things are different than they used to be, Ace. When the Daleks invade, I'm not going back to rescue anyone."

"I know that."

"And they _will_ invade Gallifrey."

"I know that, too." Her eyes narrowed at him. "But I also know you. And I know you don't just abandon people. Especially not the few people who've managed to work their way into your hearts. Not your own _daughter_."

His eyes grew cold as he studied her silently for a moment, then took a step closer, almost breaching the boundary of personal space. She flinched instinctively, but didn't move. There were a lot of things she was afraid of after all these years; he wasn't one of them.

"You know a man I used to be," he said low. "But that all changed the moment the Time Lords locked me out of my Tardis and tried to force me to fight the Daleks for Gallifrey."

"You're saying you _would_ abandon your family?" she challenged quietly, raising her eyes to him. "That you would let her die, at the hand of the Daleks, just to make a point?"

"I'm saying that there's more at stake than any of you realize. And if these things really _have _to happen, then it doesn't matter what I do."

She frowned, but didn't look away.

"I don't abandon people," he finished, stepping away from her. "But I've also never forced people to be saved."

"That's not true."

"Maybe it wasn't true before." He kept walking, not slowing on his way up the steps to the hallway. "But it is now."


	7. Chapter Six - No Right Answer

**CHAPTER SIX**

**No Right Answer**

There were any number of unusual places in the Tardis where Charley knew she might find the Doctor. And then there were the totally random places she never would've thought to look and only managed to find by pure chance. He was in one of those places. She had known for a long time that there was a pool somewhere in the Tardis, but she had never seen it. He had never used it - at least not while she was around. But that's where he was now, curled on his side in one of the lounge chairs. She thought at first he might be asleep. But his eyes were open, staring blankly at the plants along the far wall, soaking in the artificial sunlight from above.

"Doctor?" she asked as she approached quietly. "Are you okay?"

He sighed and turned onto his back, sitting in the lounge chair the way it was intended to be used. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

She sat down on the edge of the lounge chair next to him. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were hiding in here."

He sighed and shook his head, staring across the still surface of the water. "There's nothing to do right now except wait until we drift close to something that will tell us where we are."

"Couldn't we head for one of those stars out there?" she asked, brow furrowed. "Who knows what we'd find, but it's got to be better than just drifting..."

"I can't," he said quietly. "I don't have coordinates and even if I did, I can't access the Time Vortex."

"Why? Is something wrong with the Tardis?"

"Nothing's wrong with the Tardis; she's perfectly fine. Which makes it even more confusing if we are in a different universe."

"What do you mean?"

"She's designed for N-Space. And for a fixed time continuum, anchored to Gallifreyan Relative Time. Without both of those things, she should be screaming at me to fix something. To make it stop... hurting, if you will. Either that or not be working at all."

"So what's the alternative?" she asked quietly.

"Honestly? I haven't a clue."

She studied him for a long moment, saying nothing. There were plenty of things she wanted to say, but she didn't have the words, for one thing, and for another, she could tell that he was in one of his broody moods. In a way, it frustrated her. This wasn't the time for brooding. He needed to be focused, now more than ever. He needed to figure out where they were and, more importantly, where they were going. And right now, she needed him to be the reassurance she couldn't get anywhere else.

"Tell me we did the right thing," she pleaded quietly, lowering her head and watching him out of the corner of her eye as she twisted the ball of her foot on the pavement. "Leaving Gallifrey. Leaving Julia. _ Bringing _India..."

He opened his eyes to stare blankly up at a far corner of the ceiling, across the still surface of the water. So much for reassurance. She took a deep breath, and let it out slow. "Should we have stayed?"

Finally, he gave a deep sigh. "If I had stayed, it wouldn't have changed anything. Maybe they would've died at a different time, in a different way... But I couldn't have stopped what has to happen."

"They," she repeated, brow furrowed. "You mean Julia."

"I mean everyone on that planet."

The words struck her to the core as she considered them. Not just her daughter, but everyone she had known for the past ten years. Everyone dead. The thought wasn't new, but it was horrifying to hear him speak of it like a past event, something that was already done and unchangeable.

"You really think they're all dead?" she managed quietly.

"If they're not, they will be."

The shock wore off gradually as she reminded herself that in spite of his apparent certainty, he could know nothing more about what was happening on Gallifrey than she did. He couldn't see it; he hadn't witnessed anything or talked to anyone who had. It wasn't a certainty; it was a moment of melodrama. Gathering her determination, she sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders.

"I don't believe that," she said defiantly.

He only sighed.

"Do you know how long they have been preparing for this battle?" she challenged. "Ten years. Ten years of ever heightening security, drills, and more than a fair amount of fear. Ten years of preparing to fight without you, just in case you really were dead."

"Ten years must seem like a very long time to you."

She glared at him. "Don't patronize me, Doctor. It _was _a very long time, thank you very much."

"And does it make you feel better to think it will make a difference? To think they stand a chance?" he demanded, his voice colder as he looked up and met her stare. "To think that ten years will make a difference in the scheme of eternity?"

"Does it make you feel better to simply write them off?" she shot back. "You can't help them - or won't help them - so they might as well be dead?"

His eyes narrowed. "You know the Daleks," he reminded her. "With two million of them in the sky and all the knowledge and technology they need to walk right onto Gallifrey's plane, right through the transduction barrier..."

"If you believe there's no hope for Gallifrey, why did you leave our daughter there?"

"Do you really think any of us will outlive her?" he challenged.

She stared at him, struck, as she tried unsuccessfully to find an answer.

"You came up here to die, Charley," he continued coldly. "Or did you forget that part?"

Tears stung her eyes as she took those words on the chin. "Of course I didn't forget," she whispered. "But we're still alive. And so is Julia."

He looked away again.

"Romana knows the Daleks too, Doctor. She knows more than most what they're capable. She'll do whatever she has to do to defend Gallifrey."

Still, he didn't answer. The silence was unnerving. He was shutting her out, and she needed him here with her right now. Charley could feel her breath catch as her mind raced through the possibilities in that long silence. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed deep. Then, with a conscious effort, she softened her voice and continued.

"Talk to me," she pleaded, to no avail. "Just... say _something_."

His eyes flashed with anger as he looked at her, and she knew immediately that the "something" he was going to say was nothing she wanted to hear.

"Charley, my people - everything I'm supposed to be, supposed to stand for - my entire planet is being _massacred _and I'm floating in empty space with no idea where we are or how long we will drift here before we meet a similar fate. What do you want me to say?"

"Since when did you become such a fatalist?" Charley cried, losing her grip on the calm demeanor again. She was frustrated and confused by the words that were coming out of him. Even when he was broody, even when he had been at the point of embracing death, he had never sounded so _hopeless_.

"It's _over_, Charley."

"It's not over," she protested. "We're still alive; Julia is still alive. It's not over yet!"

"Yes, it is."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it's already happened!"

As the Doctor stood glaring at her, Charley stared back, confused and a bit shocked by the intensity of the anger in his voice. Finally, he looked away again, lowering his voice.

"I made it happen."

"What do you mean it's already happened?" she finally managed.

"I have no right to escape this."

She stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words settling deep inside of her. He hadn't answered her question, but it didn't matter. She knew what the truth amounted to. Angry tears flooded her eyes as she fisted her hands, nails digging into her palms.

"No _right_?" she challenged, the low tone growing in volume and intensity as her own anger overflowed. "No right to escape! _We_ have no right to escape? Your children, your family - we have no right?"

"You came here to die."

"I came here willing to die if I had to do. That doesn't mean I _want _to die. It doesn't mean that I'm..." She took a breath, trying to slow her racing thoughts. "That I'm _ready _to die. It doesn't mean that I'm ready to watch my children die. But you... What's _wrong _with you! You sound like you've completely given up hope!"

"What do you want me to say?" he asked flatly, staring at her with empty, distant eyes.

She took a deep, steadying breath, blowing out slowly. It wasn't doing either of them any good to have both of them worked up. Far from the comfort she'd been seeking, he'd only made her feel furious. Right now, she couldn't stand to look at him. She couldn't stand to hear these words coming out of his mouth. It wasn't the first time he'd hidden behind a defeatist attitude; he just needed time. She knew that. But this time, she didn't have the patience to talk him through it. This time, it was entirely too painful. Without another word, she turned, hugging herself tightly as she left him to wallow in his self pity.

***X*X*X***

"What did she say?"

Julia sighed as she turned onto her back, withdrawing from the warm body next to her and staring instead at the blank, boring ceiling. "Exactly what I imagined she'd say," she answered quietly.

"That's not very encouraging."

"She was friends with my father long before she was president. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he'd want her to keep an eye on me."

"Has she?" he asked, a frown creasing his brow. "Kept an eye on you, I mean."

Julia smirked as she turned her head to look at him again. "She doesn't know about _you_, if that's what you're worried about."

With a small, knowing smile, Garent reached up and brushed her hair back, behind her ear. "That's only part of what I'm worried about," he admitted.

"What's the other part?"

"That she'll send you away."

"The evacuations are voluntary," Julia said confidently as the hair fell into her eyes again. She turned onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows as she tossed it behind her, letting it cascade down her back. She wasn't surprised when it stuck to her overheated skin. "She can't _force _me to leave."

"She's the president. She can damn well do as she pleases. And it's not as if she wouldn't have the ammunition to do it legally if she wanted to do."

"You worry too much."

"Not enough," he corrected. "Being here, with you..."

She raised a brow, inviting him to continue. He only smiled as he lifted a hand to trace from her shoulder all the way down to her elbow.

"I would lose everything, you know. My job, my reputation, my status..."

"Your time capsule..."

"For all the good that does me." He sighed. "I have no desire to leave Gallifrey if I can't take you with me."

"Who says you can't?"

His eyes turned sad as he trailed his fingertips back up, and all the way to her cheekbones, stroking slowly. "If you leave Gallifrey, you will grow old."

"And if I never leave Gallifrey, I will grow bored." She smiled knowingly at the concern written all over his face. "Come on, Garent. I may not have his blood in my veins, but the Doctor is as close to a father as I've got. And you know the story of my mother."

"How could I forget?"

"I was born to run. You knew that when you fell in love with me."

"So why didn't you go with him?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Actually, yes."

With a broad smile, she leaned closer, kissing his lips gently. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

"Still not sure I understand why," he admitted quietly. "The Doctor is... different. He's a renegade. And a criminal besides."

Julia rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't start that again."

"I'm not trying to start anything," Garent responded quickly. "I just -"

"Rule number one," she reminded him, her tone as cool as her gaze. "No discussion about the Doctor."

"I just mean that he doesn't care if the whole world knows about him and your mother and what they..."

Julia raised a brow, amused. "Go ahead," she prodded. "Say it."

Garent sighed. "I'm not like him, Julia. We do this," he gestured loosely at the bedroom around them, "but I could never take it further. I could never go so far as to imprint you, to make it so that everyone could see. And I love you; I really do. It's not that I'm ashamed of _you_, it's just..."

"I've heard all of this before, Garent. And frankly, you're preaching to the choir. I saw what my mother had to go through - all the scorn, the xenophobia. I'm not about to open up that can of worms."

Garent frowned as he stared at her. "You know, sometimes, I don't understand half the words you say."

She laughed. "Metaphors too complex for you?"

"My point is, I hope you didn't _just _stay for me."

She looked away.

"If adventure is what you want, you could've had that with the Doctor."

"If I'd lived long enough."

"You're no safer here and you know it."

"I'm not convinced that's true."

"It's true." Garent cupped her chin gently, turning her eyes back to him. "The Daleks will come back, Julia. When they do, you'll be right in the thick of it."

"And if I'd gone with the Doctor, I would've been right in the thick of it the moment I left."

"But he would've been with you."

"And here, _you'll _be with me."

He frowned. "Julia..."

"What?" she demanded, finally letting her light tone drop as she frowned. "Are you trying to tell me you _want _me to go?"

"I'm not saying that at all."

"Then what _are _you saying?"

Garent studied her for a long moment before he finally sighed, pushing himself up as he slid a hand back into her hair. He held her gently as he kissed her with tender, loving care. "I would never tell you to go," he whispered. "But sometimes, I just really wonder why you stay. I love you. Since the very first time I spoke to you, I think I've loved you. But there's so much I could never give you. And I can't bear the thought that you would sacrifice... everything. That you would give up so much for _me_."

She smiled softly as she touched his lips lightly with the tip of her finger, then leaned forward to set a soft, gentle kiss on his brow. "Self-deprecation doesn't suit you, Time Lord," she whispered, nuzzling him gently. "And for the record, I don't love you because of what you can do for me. I love you because you're you. And I'm never, ever going to leave you."


	8. Chapter Seven - Clandestine Meeting

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**Clandestine Meeting**

This was not the type of place Braxiatel would have chosen for this meeting, if indeed he'd had a choice. It was dark and dirty and smelled like liquor and bodily fluids of a hundred different races at least. Rassilon knew how many diseases lurked in every damp corner and while disease wasn't particularly his concern, the knowledge that there was very little in this universe that couldn't be cured as soon as he made it back to Gallifrey made the prospect of contracting some horrific infection no less nauseating.

Sitting in the far corner of the noisy, dimly lit room - past the prostitutes and their clients conducting business right out in the open, and the loud, raucous laughter of drunken fools from various planets - was a man in a shadowed booth. He was alone, with an array of dirty glasses on the table in front of him - a testament to how long he'd been sitting there, drowning himself in mind-numbing alcohol.

Looking at him - the dark clothes that seemed to blend into the background, the dirt and sweat-streaked scruff on his face and the skinned, split knuckles probably healed a dozen times over - he was nothing that Braxiatel had ever wanted to imagine. He could smell the degradation on him, see it resting on him like a film. And it was hard to tell, as he approached quietly, whether the man was alert or so far buried in his melancholy nothingness that he didn't even hear the blaring, angry beats that constituted as some form of music, or the shrieks of laughter from the women in the booth beside him, or whether he was even aware of his surroundings at all.

The question was answered the moment Braxiatel stepped up next to the table, and the man leaned into his hand, rubbing his forehead with dirt-and-blood-caked fingers. "Do we really have to do this now?"

Braxiatel hesitated, a bit surprised that he'd been expected. "You knew I was coming?"

"No. I _remember _you coming." The stranger with the greasy dark hair looked up at him with cold, black eyes. "I just didn't remember it was here or I would've chosen another venue."

Braxiatel was caught off guard by the depravity in the man's eyes. It was like a covering that soaked in the sweat and dirt and sex and booze in this place and made it a part of him. This was not a Time Lord. This man was no better than an animal.

Braxiatel glanced down at the empty seat opposite his future self and shuddered, not daring to contemplate the last time it had been sanitized. He wouldn't have been surprised if the answer were 'never'. Steeling himself, he slid into the booth and folded his hands on the table, choosing to ignore the sticky substance they were resting in.

"I'm surprised they let you off of Gallifrey," the stranger said coolly. He took another long drink of amber-colored liquid, then studied Braxiatel for a long moment with apparent amusement. With a smirk, he leaned his head back on the wall behind him. For a moment, Braxiatel wondered just how drunk he was, given the lazy way his eyes wandered and the slightly mocking, loose way that he spoke.

"Look at you. Lord High Chancellor Braxiatel, descending to mingle with the commoners."

Braxiatel said nothing.

The stranger's eyes drifted - over to the bar, briefly to the front door - and finally back to him. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"Project Endgame."

"What about it?"

"I want to know if I can stop it."

The stranger laughed. "You won't."

Braxiatel's eyes narrowed. "That's not what I asked."

The stranger took another drink, watching Braxiatel over the top of his glass. He hesitated for a long moment as he lowered it, and set it gently on the table.

"Why ask me?" he finally demanded.

"There's no one else I can ask. Rather, no one else with the knowledge that I - we - possess."

"I've given you all the knowledge that I can. You have the projection. You even knew where and how to find me. What more do you expect me to say?"

Braxiatel watched his other self as he downed half the glass in two gulps and slammed it on the table, not for the first time more than a little terrified of a future that turned him into this creature. He leaned forward slightly, careful not to touch any more of the table than was absolutely necessary.

"I expect you to tell me how I can avoid this." He waved a hand over the empty glasses and vaguely around the pit they were in. "How I can avoid having the blood of our people on my hands. I really would rather avoid it if at all possible."

A long, lingering silence followed, and the stranger took another drink, draining the alcohol and reaching for another that was still full. Drawing in a breath to renew his patience, Braxiatel tried again.

"If you had known as me what you know now..."

"I don't dwell on past mistakes."

"It was a mistake, then?"

"If so, it was an unavoidable one."

"There are very few things that are truly unavoidable."

Slowly, the stranger nodded. He drank again before he looked up, cold eyes coming to meet a memory of who he'd once been. For an instant, there was a flicker of understanding. And then, nothing.

"Have you already sent the Doctor away?"

"Yes."

"Then there is no avoiding it."

Braxiatel frowned. "Are you saying that if I hadn't sent him from Gallifrey, _he _might have stopped Endgame?"

"If you're asking me to speculate on things that might have happened but didn't, then all I can say is that he would've certainly had a better chance than you do. But it doesn't matter, at this point."

"The Doctor believed that there could be alternate timelines, not recorded in that projection."

"And the Doctor was wrong. The only reason he believed that is because of the data you _erased _from the projection to make him believe it."

Braxiatel frowned. "Your tone suggests you regret having done so."

"Regret isn't the word I would use." He took another drink. "Reconsideration, maybe."

"If I hadn't done precisely as I did, he would've died as a prisoner of the Daleks. You know that."

"Or he would've stayed on Gallifrey."

"And there would've died as well." Braxiatel leaned forward. "I saved his life."

"Are you trying to convince me that you did him some kind of service?" the stranger laughed mockingly. "You've been talking to Romana too much, trying to justify yourself. You screwed him and you know it."

Braxiatel's eyes narrowed. "My conversations with Romana are limited by the appropriateness of our respective offices. There's little 'screwing' to speak of."

The stranger ignored the implied insult and instead glanced away. "You sent him off with no knowledge of what he was walking into because you knew that if he'd seen where that path would lead him, he never would have agreed to it."

"He needed to leave," Braxiatel said firmly.

"Yes, and now he's gone." The stranger glared at him. "And Gallifrey is a lost cause. The sooner you accept that, the happier you will be."

Braxiatel glared back, a flicker of anger sparking deep inside of him. "I will never accept that."

"Yes, you will. Someday."

"Don't tell me you've come to believe in the Doctor as the ultimate savior of Gallifrey."

"_You're _sure as hell not."

"Perhaps not. But I have a difficult time believing that sending the Doctor away was the catalyst for Project Endgame."

"Why? Are your hands too clean for that?"

Braxiatel frowned. "Meaning what, exactly?"

The stranger eyed him carefully, studying him with intent. "You haven't accepted it yet. And you won't. Not until you're forced."

"Accepted what?"

"That one way or another, your hands are already bloody. It's just a question of whether you have the stomach to witness how it all plays out."

Braxiatel's frown deepened. "I didn't cause this. If that's what you're implying -"

"I've had fifteen hundred years to try and convince myself of that," the stranger interrupted. He shook his head. "Still haven't quite managed it."

Braxiatel had never thought he would see the day when he would question the loyalty and steadfastness of one of his own incarnations. But staring at this man - at this shadow of what he dreaded to one day become - he suddenly wondered just what he was really capable of in a universe buried so deeply in war as the bloody knuckles and dirty clothes and empty, angry eyes would suggest.

"Where is Romana?" he asked suddenly and without hesitation. He didn't even realize the question had formed until he'd already spoken it.

"Does it matter?" the stranger demanded.

"It matters a great deal."

"Why?"

"To _both _of us," Braxiatel finished coolly.

The accusation was left unspoken, but it hung in the air. The older man regarded him with contempt and a slight smirk. "Fifteen hundred years separate you and me, High Chancellor. Do you think that's enough to change the essence of a man?"

Braxiatel gave a short laugh. "Have you seen yourself recently?"

The stranger looked away.

"I know you've been fighting a war, but is it any wonder why I would question just how far you'd fallen?"

"I trust that you're not questioning what you can see with your own eyes. Do you want me to draw you a diagram?"

"Is she alive?"

"What makes you think she isn't?"

"A lack of compelling evidence that she is." He paused briefly. "If I can't avoid this, I might as well start to prepare myself now for whatever depravity I have to look forward to."

"You could never prepare yourself for what I have seen."

Braxiatel leaned forward and locked eyes with the older man. "Where. Is. Romana?"

"Alive." He leaned back comfortably, tracing his finger along the rim of his glass. "She wasn't one of the casualties of Endgame, if that's what you're worried about."

"Project Endgame was only one of many scenarios that ran through my mind, I assure you."

The stranger chuckled. "Believe me, Chancellor, you haven't the imagination to consider how she has spent the lives that separate her from you."

"Clearly."

"Go ahead," the stranger offered with a loose wave of his hand. "We both know how disgusted you are, so say it, if you want to. But fair warning, if you say anything insulting about _her_, I'll put you right through this wall."

Closing his eyes, Braxiatel leaned his head against the wall behind him, jaw tight as he sized up his future incarnation. Fighting with him was pointless. There had to be an easier way to conduct this conversation. His jaw was tight as he worked to regain his composure. "Is there no part of this I can change? Any reason why I can't run now as opposed to later?"

"Run?"

"It's obvious we run. You and I wouldn't be having this conversation in a bar on some backwater planet if we hadn't."

"You could run." The stranger took another drink. "But what's the point?"

"It's different. A change."

"A meaningless one."

"Then give me one with meaning."

The stranger laughed. "You think I could tell you how to change this war?"

"I think you've spent many nights thinking about it," Braxiatel said confidently. "Trying to figure out where you went wrong."

The stranger stared blankly at him for a long moment, then shook his head. "You still don't get it, do you?" he asked with a hint of awe in his tone.

Braxiatel didn't answer, but he braced himself as the stranger leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"You can't change anything," the stranger growled. "Endgame will happen. This war will happen. And everything you ever thought you knew about yourself, you'll question it. And you'll do it _long _before you're me." He finished the last of his final drink and pushed the glass aside, among the others. "Fifteen hundred years may not be long enough to change the essence of a man. But it's long enough to make him reconsider whether he ever knew who or what he was."

"You're starting to sound like the Doctor."

"That's because I understand now."

Braxiatel raised a brow questioningly.

"I understand what he was running from. And why. It's more than just knowing _how_; I understand _why _manipulating him was the only way to force him into fulfilling his role. Why he would've rather died when he thought that was his only other option."

"And you sympathize with him now?"

"No. I simply admit what you won't."

"What is that, precisely?"

"You took that choice away from him. You made him think there was a third option. Even though you knew it was the _only_ option."

"You and I both know that if I hadn't done what I did, we would still be looping through paradox after paradox until eventually, the entire Web of Time collapsed."

"And from where I'm sitting, that sounds like a fairly quick and painless death."

"For the entire universe?" Braxiatel asked in shock. "You regret _sustaining _the Web of Time?"

"The Web of Time is a casualty of this war. The only question is how much suffering needs to happen between now and then."

Braxiatel shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "You're wrong."

"I'm not wrong. I don't expect that you'll be able to accept that, but you'd better accept the fact that you have only one purpose now."

"What purpose?"

The stranger finished the last of his final drink and pushed the glass aside, among the others. "Protect Romana."

"Protect her from what?"

The stranger half-smiled at him, sadistically. "You'll find that out soon enough."

Braxiatel closed his eyes and massaged his forehead, a headache forming as much from the smoke and noise around them as the blatant truth of his future hitting him dead on. Standing, Braxiatel did his best to straighten his robes as he nodded to his older self.

"Thank you. This has been... enlightening."

Not waiting for - or expecting - a response, he turned on his heel and began weaving back through tables and their occupants for the exit. Head down slightly as his robe caught on a chair, he didn't notice as someone came in when he opened the door, bumping square into her.

"My apologies -"

He was cut off as his eyes landed on the woman in front of him, eyes wide as she stared up at him. Blonde-haired and bruised and wearing a large cut on her forehead, she looked at once nothing and everything like who she was. He'd know her anywhere, any regeneration.

"Romana..."

Before he could say anything more, she'd ducked her head and turned, headed straight for the booth he'd just vacated. He watched after her for a moment, struck by the pain and cold anger he saw in her eyes. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he made for his Tardis, more than happy to be leaving this godforsaken rock.


	9. Chapter Eight - Realms of Authority

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**Realms of Authority**

There were few places on Gallifrey where Romana could go to be alone. Her private quarters were private, but they weren't exactly secluded. During daylight hours, she was just as likely to be interrupted there as in her office. She didn't want to be interrupted right now, and most certainly not by any "official business".

She'd come to the Academy gardens to think, to reflect. And in the process, she'd done her best example of a rebellious child sneaking out the bedroom window. She'd dressed as one of the humans from the Academy, with a hooded jacket to hide her face. She'd left her guards and even her K-9 behind. And she had to admit that she felt a hint of satisfaction at the thought of their reactions when they did go looking for her. Particularly if it was Braxiatel. Something he didn't know, for once...

She sighed as she sat down on the stone bench and rested her back against the pillar behind her. As much as she wanted to be alone, the loneliness also reminded her of just how alone she really was, surrounded by political allies and enemies alike. She could hardly tell the difference between the two most of the time. Especially lately, with the games Braxiatel seemed intent on playing...

"Madame President?"

She looked up abruptly, startled both by the fact that she wasn't alone and that she'd been recognized. Bracing herself for the worst, she was somewhat relieved to see the aged-but-healthy frame of Dean Focala standing near the entrance to the courtyard.

"What an unexpected pleasure," he said pleasantly. "I so rarely see anyone in these gardens anymore, much less the president of Gallifrey."

"How did you recognize me?"

He smiled. "It was a guess." He nodded to her. "Those clothes are horribly outdated by what my students are wearing nowadays. And there aren't many people I could think of who would both be likely to come here, and have reason to conceal their identity upon doing so."

She brought her legs closer, crossing them in front of her as he sat down on the opposite side of the bench. "I suppose fashion has not been my primary concern lately," she admitted with a faint smile. She sighed again as she looked away. "Far more important things to worry about."

"Ah, yes." He nodded and leaned against the pillar behind him. "The nonexistent sky trenches, no doubt. Has the council decided what to do about that, yet?"

She smirked slightly. It was not surprising to her that he knew about the issues they were having in that regard. The Time Lords were nothing if not masters of gossip. "Not officially, no. And even so, the trenches without soldiers to man them are fairly useless."

"Hmm, I had wondered about that." He raised a brow. "And what of the Doctor? Has there been any word of him?"

She cast him a sideways glance and a smile. "If I didn't know better, Lord Focala, I might think you'd taken up investigative reporting in your spare time."

He chuckled. "Not at all, Madame President. I just prefer to have my facts straight for when students come to me with their wild rumors." He paused reflectively, then took a step closer, turning to sit down beside her. "Just the other day, I had to set the record straight with a group of students who had it on good authority that we were moving the entire Academy off-planet."

"Oh really?"

She chuckled. "Yes, and I believe the directive was traced back to _you_, if I remember correctly."

"I somehow don't think that's going to happen."

Slowly, her smile fell as she considered possible sources of the rumor, and the bits of truth behind it. The Academy was nearly empty of off-world students now. Those remaining had nowhere to go, or no way to get there. The evacuation, if it was proper to call it that, had indeed originated with her, but it had not been her idea. She lowered her eyes as she sighed.

"Though if such plans _were _in the making, I would probably be the last to know," she admitted. "Lately, I can't even trust my own advisors."

Focala nodded solemnly. "That is the difficulty one faces with too many advisors."

Romana cast a glance up at him again, and raised a brow. "Too many?" she asked curiously, wondering just how many he thought she had.

"I have watched the people of this planet and others for many, many years, Madame President. Almost twice as many as you've been alive, in fact. And if there is one thing I can tell you about the peoples of the universe, it is that there are few who can be trusted to put the welfare of another before themselves."

Romana smiled knowingly. He wasn't telling her anything she hadn't learned for herself long ago. "That's why alliances are best kept when they're mutually beneficial," she agreed.

"And are your alliances with your advisors mutually beneficial?"

She paused for a moment to consider it, and frowned. "I don't know anymore," she admitted. "There was a time when the answer to that question would have seemed obvious. But lately it seems that even those who have been most loyal and most trusted in my life have made it clear that they have little to gain from their continued support."

Focala watched her quietly, curiously, as she sighed deeply and looked away. But he let her continue without interruption.

"My second-in-command manipulates his way through situations with no regard for those whose lives he's jeopardizing - even mine, I suspect. My closest personal friend has run off to her death at the Doctor's side and we won't even mention how _that _relationship has ended."

"Ended, Madame President?" Focala challenged gently. "You seem very certain."

She sighed. "When I think of what the Doctor might have known before he left Gallifrey..."

"Would it make his sacrifice any less significant to know that he did it with a motive different than yours?"

"Oh, it's not that." She gave a tight, unconvincing smile. "I know his motives never mirrored my own. He holds some loyalty to me, but anything he felt for Gallifrey died years ago."

Focala gave a slight smile. "I doubt that very much."

"Do you?"

"One does not simply turn away from their origins. The Doctor may be a renegade, but he is still a Time Lord. He may not consider Gallifrey his home, but it is still at the core of who he is."

"I'm not certain he sees it that way."

"Neither are you certain he does not. Perhaps it would ease your mind to simply give him the benefit of the doubt."

"It's not about easing my mind, Lord Focala," she said dryly. She hesitated a moment before glancing up at him again. "The Doctor never detonated the dimensional correlation destabilizer. I'm not certain he ever intended to do. He must have known even better than I did how he was being used. If he really did simply run away and leave Gallifrey to face the Daleks without his help..."

"Then it would be a reflection on you?" Focala finished curiously. "A personal betrayal, as it were?"

"If it's true, he left me to die with everyone else."

"And would you have had it any other way?"

"That's not the point," Romana said, slightly irritated. "It's not about _me_."

"Of course not. He abandoned all of us, is that right?"

"It's not that, either." She looked away, forming her thoughts slowly before she finally turned back to him. "He was used, Lord Focala. Manipulated, and used, and he certainly knew it. He always does, and it wasn't exactly subtle. But one thing I have always known about him is that he is forthright - at least with me. To think that he turned and used those who sought to manipulate him..."

Focala chuckled. "Turnabout is fair play, Madame President."

"I'm not saying it wasn't fair; I'm saying it wasn't like him."

"To survive?" Focala challenged. "It was unlike him to do anything he had to in order to survive, to protect his family?"

Romana opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again when she found no words, and looked away.

Focala studied her quietly for a moment before he sighed. "For as far back as I can remember, there has been an assumption that, as dean, I miss a great deal. This assumption did not start when I was appointed to my position. I remember thinking the same thing about my dean, as well. Never mind the fact that he always seemed to know what we were up to; we were convinced he was absolutely clueless."

She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye, not sure what point he was trying to make.

"However, as I am sure you are aware, Romanadvoratrelundar, that assumption couldn't be further from the truth. My ability to passively observe is one of the many qualities that proved me right for this position. As such, it has never slipped my notice that, while the Doctor may not always be _right _- morally, legally, or otherwise - he is consistently loyal to those closest to him. You, quite possibly more than anyone, know this to be true."

"Of course he is," she answered quietly. "And I expect nothing less. I only wish that _somebody _- be it him or those who prompted his actions with their own manipulation - would have let me in on the joke."

"For what purpose? Is there anything you could have done differently? You've already said this is not about easing your mind, making you feel better..."

She was quiet for a moment before she finally looked up and met Focala's gaze, holding it steadily. "Any other time, I would've felt ashamed for even questioning that the Doctor may have turned his back on all of us and left us to die at the hands of the Daleks. And now I find that not only do I question it, I'm beginning to believe he did just that. That is something so unlike him, so wrong, that it makes me wonder if I ever knew him at all."

Focala sighed deeply, and hesitated for a moment to form his response completely before he answered. "I have known the Doctor for a very long time, Madame President," he finally said. "Never so well as you, I am sure, but certainly for more years. Over those years I have questioned many of his decisions and been witness to many of his mistakes. But one thing I have never questioned is his loyalty to his moral code, however different it might be to yours and mine."

"We all exhibit questionable morality at times. He certainly had more reason to do so than most."

"Not _all_, Madame President. And thankfully those who choose to be are subject to those who choose not to."

"The Doctor has not been a subject of Gallifrey for a very long time."

He smiled as he stood. "Then perhaps you should be concentrating your energy on those questionably moral souls who are."

Bowing his head slightly, he exited the garden almost as quietly as he'd entered. Romana frowned as she watched him go, letting his words settle inside of her. Finally, she sighed as she ran a hand over her face and stood to head back to her office.

*X*X*X*

"It is my opinion, as President of Gallifrey, that the decision to reestablish political relations with a renegade faction from the House of Lungbarrow - particularly one who posed such threat to the Web of Time as to be exiled from this planet - was far overstepping your boundaries, Coordinator Rodak."

Rodak's eyes narrowed as he clasped his hands behind his back, pushing his shoulders back. "Need I remind you, Madame President, that it is within my boundaries to do whatever is necessary to secure the safety and security of Gallifrey."

"With council approval," Braxiatel reminded him, far more relaxed but eyeing him just as carefully as the President and other members of the High Council.

"That, High Chancellor, was never stipulated."

"Then let it be made very clear to you now," Romana said. "Your authority in this matter may have been greatly exaggerated by the outcome of the recent inquiry. But you are still subject to Gallifreyan law."

"And under Gallifreyan law," Darkel continued, "negotiating with a foreign government is not permitted without the express consent of the High Council."

Rodak scoffed. "Madame Inquisitor, it is the very nature and purpose of the Celestial Intervention Agency to investigate and prevent any threat by any foreign government or agent thereof."

"Perhaps therein lies the problem," Romana answered. "Perhaps the CIA has operated for so long without accountability that its coordinator considers himself above the law."

"No more than the president herself," Rodak shot back.

"I have never considered myself above the law, Coordinator," Romana said dryly. "I have even gone to such lengths as to submit myself to a public inquiry to evaluate my actions in light of the council's interpretation of that law."

"And their ruling was fairly clear."

"Might I remind you that the Madame President was found guilty of no offense," Marstis said.

"And might I remind you that she was stripped of her power to treat this crisis as if it were a war in which she held supreme authority. Or to turn it into one."

Romana's eyes narrowed. "I'm not the one who wants to resurrect dead soldiers from the APC Net."

"The ethical integrity of which is in and of itself suspect," Braxiatel continued. "No precedent has ever been set for such a radical effort."

"No situation has ever required it."

"And if it had," Romana interjected, "it would have been subject to the same review that it is now."

"The council's decision is final," Panteral said flatly. "And unanimous. Nothing you can say will change this ruling."

"What ruling?" Rodak demanded indignantly. "If you're going to limit my ability to do my job, at least be specific in what way you're restricting me."

"The APC Net is a resting place," Marstis said. "And a resource only so much as it is connected to the Matrix. It is not to be used to bodily resurrect dead Time Lords."

"Furthermore, the suggestion that soulless bodies be loomed like so many slabs of meat to be 'possessed' by these dead soldiers is frankly revolting," Darkel continued with clear disgust.

"And lastly, you are to have no further dealings with Faction Paradox," Romana ordered. "Whether as a representative of Gallifrey or merely common citizen."

"If you are to prevent me, at least you should consider talking to them yourself."

"I will do no such thing," Romana scoffed. "Faction Paradox was exiled from Gallifrey for a reason; they were considered a very real threat to the stability of the Web of Time. We have a responsibility to protect that stability. Particularly in light of the fact that we are already witnessing the effects of paradox at the hands of the Daleks, we cannot allow our allies to play fast and loose with the laws of time."

"I thought alliances with renegades and exiles who play fast and loose with the laws of time was something of a specialty of yours, Madame President," Rodak answered with contempt.

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Be very careful, Coordinator," she warned. "Your alliances within this room seem to be stretching very thin. It would be unwise to provoke me to consider the criminal charges that might be associated with your precious Project Endgame."

Rodak startled slightly at the mention of the operation's formal title. He was sure he hadn't mentioned it. Of course, whatever Braxiatel knew, he could've relayed to anyone he chose.

"Will you submit to this ruling?" Braxiatel asked simply. "Or do you require a formal inquiry to publicly address the matter of your inability to prevent the Daleks from destroying Gallifrey without creating risky alliances and resurrecting an army from the dead?"

Rodak paused, sizing up his opponents one at a time.

"And before you answer," Darkel added, "let me make it perfectly clear that if you choose to make this a matter of public record, the Valeyard will undoubtedly be included in the discussion of your actions as a criminal matter."

Finally, seething with anger, Rodak took a step forward. "The only crime being committed here is ignorance. We are on the verge of the greatest -"

"Save your political speeches, Rodak," Romana interrupted, impatiently glaring at him. "All we want to know is whether you will or will not submit to this council."

Rodak stared at them for a moment, then sucked in a breath and drew himself to his full height. "I will not," he finally said, defiantly. "And I request a formal review by the full council on the matter."

Romana sighed. "To what end, Coordinator?"

"The cardinals of all the Houses of Gallifrey will be affected by this decision." Rodak smirked, knowingly. "And I doubt that you will find such unanimity among common people who consider their lives rather than their offices at stake."


End file.
